Post by Deleted on Sept 9, 2016 5:17:50 GMT
“Nobody move, nobody gets hurt, where's the fun in that? Survival of the worst.”
The sounds of “Apex Predator” by Otep flow through the brightly lit room. The surrounding walls are decorated by macabre art and glass cabinets with assortments of knives and whips. Various shackles and chains hang from the ceiling in half, wherein the other half is merely comprised of an X table, where Cyrus Riddle sits in the center, shirtless. With his face looking down at what seems to be dried blood on his hands, the camera zooms in, revealing the same remnants in spots on his tattooed arms and chest.
“What does it profit a man to gain the world, but sell his soul? If you wish to receive an answer to that, you only have to look toward Ernie P. He sold his soul to an English devil, and in exchange, I offer him the ability to be a triumphant brand manager. Oh, little does he know what sort of destruction he has cast upon his own roster.”
A malicious laugh escaped Cyrus’ lips as his hands raised, admiring the remnants of recent events.
“Why unleash this upon the brand you wish to see flourish? It's simple, he knows it succeeds with me at the helm. I'm battle tested, war proven, and capable of navigating the most turbulent waters. I've taken companies to the promise land, and we have dined like Kings and Queens during my reigns. Thirty glorious championships, all of which became monumental events in the direction of wherever I called home. Now, I make it number thirty one, possibly thirty two with the acquisition of EOW’s prizes. If anyone questions the outcome, I have ways to alter opinions. I don't fear a man, a woman, or a deity. Blood is merely a fluid that binds myself and anyone who wishes to share their life force with me. In a night filled with uncertainty, the only guarantee is that I walk away with a few additional pounds on my shoulder.”
Pushing himself off the table, Cyrus slowly walks the room, allowing view of his work. A knife resides on the counter-top, encased in glass. The black handle looking pristine with the blood stained blade having lost its once shining glory.
“Nobody forgets their first. First love, kiss, lay, kill...slice. Whether it's in the back or down the chest, you haven't lived until the flesh filets open and the adrenaline gives you that excess high. From that moment, you begin to chase that rush over and over again. The same works with championships. A new company with new competition and the ability to hold new gold almost guarantees that rush once more, in its purest form.”
“Everyone here seeks money or notoriety, but few are in it for the animalistic fun. The hunt is what I seek. I will establish myself as the true predator in EOW. For me, there is nothing more enjoyable than catching the prey and mauling them. The ring and this room are my play areas, and I AM the dominant in both situations. There is nobody else, there is no other way. You either do as Daddy wants, or you suffer consequences. There is no compromise here.”
He turns to face the camera, nibbling some of the dried blood from his finger.
“Seven World Championships, and that is reason enough to understand why I'm the only viable option to christen EOW and their accomplishments by attaching my name to them. I am the Archetype for a bloody reason. I am the architect of the Age of Grandeur, this is my company to build. I take what I want, who I want, and I do it at the time I want. First Livewire, I take it all, I step over everyone, and I leave the remnants of my destruction inside of a cage before I claim what I've come for. It's sure to be nothing short of a crime scene that would make the Tate-Labianco house look like a bloody tea party. After all, I'm not the Impaler because I play nice… I always play rough and to win. I'd offer you references, but as of now, they remain anonymous.”
Cyrus looks back to the table as he leans against the cabinet and washes his hands with sanitizer. With a look of sentimentality mixed with slight intensity, he slowly licks his lips to end.
The sounds of “Apex Predator” by Otep flow through the brightly lit room. The surrounding walls are decorated by macabre art and glass cabinets with assortments of knives and whips. Various shackles and chains hang from the ceiling in half, wherein the other half is merely comprised of an X table, where Cyrus Riddle sits in the center, shirtless. With his face looking down at what seems to be dried blood on his hands, the camera zooms in, revealing the same remnants in spots on his tattooed arms and chest.
“What does it profit a man to gain the world, but sell his soul? If you wish to receive an answer to that, you only have to look toward Ernie P. He sold his soul to an English devil, and in exchange, I offer him the ability to be a triumphant brand manager. Oh, little does he know what sort of destruction he has cast upon his own roster.”
A malicious laugh escaped Cyrus’ lips as his hands raised, admiring the remnants of recent events.
“Why unleash this upon the brand you wish to see flourish? It's simple, he knows it succeeds with me at the helm. I'm battle tested, war proven, and capable of navigating the most turbulent waters. I've taken companies to the promise land, and we have dined like Kings and Queens during my reigns. Thirty glorious championships, all of which became monumental events in the direction of wherever I called home. Now, I make it number thirty one, possibly thirty two with the acquisition of EOW’s prizes. If anyone questions the outcome, I have ways to alter opinions. I don't fear a man, a woman, or a deity. Blood is merely a fluid that binds myself and anyone who wishes to share their life force with me. In a night filled with uncertainty, the only guarantee is that I walk away with a few additional pounds on my shoulder.”
Pushing himself off the table, Cyrus slowly walks the room, allowing view of his work. A knife resides on the counter-top, encased in glass. The black handle looking pristine with the blood stained blade having lost its once shining glory.
“Nobody forgets their first. First love, kiss, lay, kill...slice. Whether it's in the back or down the chest, you haven't lived until the flesh filets open and the adrenaline gives you that excess high. From that moment, you begin to chase that rush over and over again. The same works with championships. A new company with new competition and the ability to hold new gold almost guarantees that rush once more, in its purest form.”
“Everyone here seeks money or notoriety, but few are in it for the animalistic fun. The hunt is what I seek. I will establish myself as the true predator in EOW. For me, there is nothing more enjoyable than catching the prey and mauling them. The ring and this room are my play areas, and I AM the dominant in both situations. There is nobody else, there is no other way. You either do as Daddy wants, or you suffer consequences. There is no compromise here.”
He turns to face the camera, nibbling some of the dried blood from his finger.
“Seven World Championships, and that is reason enough to understand why I'm the only viable option to christen EOW and their accomplishments by attaching my name to them. I am the Archetype for a bloody reason. I am the architect of the Age of Grandeur, this is my company to build. I take what I want, who I want, and I do it at the time I want. First Livewire, I take it all, I step over everyone, and I leave the remnants of my destruction inside of a cage before I claim what I've come for. It's sure to be nothing short of a crime scene that would make the Tate-Labianco house look like a bloody tea party. After all, I'm not the Impaler because I play nice… I always play rough and to win. I'd offer you references, but as of now, they remain anonymous.”
Cyrus looks back to the table as he leans against the cabinet and washes his hands with sanitizer. With a look of sentimentality mixed with slight intensity, he slowly licks his lips to end.
