Post by Dylan on Aug 9, 2021 23:17:58 GMT -5
Why?
We open on Dylan Black, leaning against a table in a white button-up shirt, the cuffs rolled halfway up his forearms. Around his neck is a black tie, and a matching black vest over the ensemble. Over his hands are black surgeon's gloves. His arms are folded in front of him, a blank stare on his face. Expressionless. Perhaps unamused by these circumstances?
Dylan: Why would Dylan Black put a stake in the ground of NLW, take a shot at Finn Whelan and go for the biggest piece of gold this area has to offer? Allow me to hand you the answer plain and simple Mr. Whelan. I tossed my name in the pot, simply because I felt like it.
A smirk from the former X*Crown Champion as he looks down at the ground. A pause, before his tone softens and he proceeds.
Dylan: And personally? I'm glad that Mr. Gunn understood it was in his best interests to select a man of my caliber to be your first challenge as the new NLW Heavyweight Champion. Because regardless of the outcome, he knows that I have what it takes to put on the best bout of the card. We may not be in the main event as I was led to believe, but we're going to steal the show in our contest.
That smirk morphs into a sly grin as he unfolds his arms and places his palms on the table. He almost lifts himself off his feet onto the table, hung in a suspended state.
Dylan: However, the show isn't the only thing I intend on stealing come Collision Course. I've got a bit of an affinity for gold, see. I like to go up and face the very best the wrestling world has to offer, and nine times out of ten those very best are champions. Can't help they're arrogant enough to think they can stand up to me. Every man or woman, world or undercard champions. Like trees in the forest, many in variety yet they make the same sound when they fall.
He points at the camera, anger in his eyes and malice in his voice.
Dylan: You will make the same sound as those who came before, as those who've yet to come. As my knee is driven in your temple or my fists defibrillate your heart. You'll be just like everyone else. Another number. Another footnote in history.
Dylan's getting worked up! He rolls his wrists and that grin has transfigurated into a sneer now.
Dylan: And that's what you'll be. History. I intend to make good of my word to Mr. Gunn. I said that I'd be stomping you out. Sorry sport, but that's just the reality of this biz. Some of us are flashes in the pan, the pop that lays the path for what's to come.
A thumb in his chest. He is what's to come, and it ain't gonna be pretty.
Dylan: And while I don't want to massacre you, in that ring it's just business. Same as any other scenario. I fight, you fall. I survive, you pass. It is what it is, and it's a brutal truth mate. Sorry, it has to come to this, but Mr. Gunn knows what he signed up for.
Solemn nods from the challenger, perhaps his sorrow is genuine.
Dylan: I don't believe the NLW Heavyweight Championship belongs to me. Far from it in fact, and I'm sure I'm making no friends in the locker room by being the one to step up to you. When I meet you in the ring, I am almost sorry to say you'll be no more than a stepping stone en route to me becoming the next NLW Heavyweight Champion. So get with this, or get out of my way. Only warning.
He raises a fist in the air, the other hand signing "E.V.E." at his side. That blank stare upon his face once more.
Dylan: All hail the Messiah. All. Bloody. Hail.
Cut to black. Fin.
