Post by Dave D-Flipz on Aug 13, 2021 23:52:58 GMT -5
???: The better man … the better … man? I don’t actually know which is funnier. The fact he thinks he is a better wrestler than me … or the fact that he thinks he is a better man.
*We open in a dark room as we hear the previous statement through the door. We hear the door handle jiggle and then light streams into the locker room. A man in an Armani suit steps into the room, hair spiked up in the front, sunglasses on his face, duffel bag on his shoulder. The lights click on as the man closes the door behind him. He pulls the sunglasses from his face and clips them via the left ear piece to the pocket on his suit coat. He turns to the camera and stops dead in his tracks. It’s everyone’s favorite hero and punchline, Death Trap.*
Death Trap: Qué pasó? What the hell … Soutter really set up a camera in my locker room? Or … oh this is one of those ribs… well …
*He walks to the camera and sees it is broadcasting. It’s also … really poorly hidden … like it’s an obvious TV camera broadcasting to the arena and XHF Network … hidden in a pile of Rally Jackson merch.*
Death Trap: Piss poor. No rib for you, asshole. … But he’s for another day. May as well make use of this camera.
*DT walks past an end table with a bowler hat sitting on it. It is oddly sitting on its top with the brim facing up. He pays it no mind and dumps his sunglasses onto the table with it. He slowly pulls his suit jacket off and hangs it in the locker closet with his trademark Mariners compass and Italian flag emblazoned interlocked DT logo.*
Death Trap: Tonight … is the first step. The first step in reigning in the rampant horror that is the cancerous KGB. It’s only sad that it’s not End of Days yet. Because it’s where we sit for the KGB tonight. Requiem, pax, all that shit. Rest in pieces. Couldn’t happen to a worse group of assholes. It started with the tag titles going away. And then Suit lost his shot at maintaining a stranglehold on the marketability of one, Jonnie Valentine. I hear he’s wrestling’s favorite martian! Or something like that. Gotta say, we got off on the wrong foot, but taking it to the founder is impressive. Respect. Much as I dislike the man, Soutter is a big bopping bruiser and took it to me last show. Credit where it’s due! Unlike Mongo, the size isn’t all jell-o pudding!
*DT steps behind a screen set up in the room. Wouldn’t want to give Rally the satisfaction right?*
Death Trap: The better man. Armand … look. I know you aren’t exactly the kind of guy to see logic. Or have empathy. But you can surely see why I am hesitant to listen to a word you have to say. The first time it was a one on one match and I had to beat down 3 guys to get to you, while you wore shoes in a barefoot LEGO match. The second time it was one on one, I had you put down and beaten. And someone dressed as the medic who was SUPPOSED to call the match, attacked me and tied me to a gurney before I realized who it was. The guy who lost was the CONSCIOUS wrestler.
*We see his shadow pull the tie off and hang it over the screen, then the vest comes off. It gets neatly placed on a hangar and put in the locker, his hand reaching out from the screen to hang it.*
Death Trap: You will not the lack of you ever actually going ONE ON ONE with me … despite your word. And the distinct lack of you actually being awake to see any victories. But fine, the record shows you technically beat me. I’m good with that. I get it. Every big godfather type needs a marquee win. And who bigger than the Main Attraction.
*Off comes the pressed pants, tossed over the screen as well. We see him reaching into a different locker where his ring attire has been laid out by the helpful SWAT staff. Hey at least Paul makes sure to hire effective behind the scenes workers. Must pay them well to deal with all the shit Frostbite puts them through.*
Death Trap: But spare me the whole rubber match schpiel about the better man. A) Until you manage to wrestle an entire match without help, something I think I’ve yet to see in watching RSW, SWAT and now NPW … I refuse to entertain the option that you won’t return to form. I’m not stupid. I’m old enough to know when a man is a liar. And you sir, are the worst of the worst. You don’t have an honest bone in your body. You wouldn’t be capable of accepting a loss without a henchman to blame, even if it were God himself smiting you for all the various sins and crimes on your ledger.
*The tights go on and DT steps out from behind the screen. He tosses the hoodie on and zips it before sighing. He looks into the camera as he sits on a chair to lace his boots*
Death Trap: Armand, don’t fool yourself. I am, and have always been the better man. I am, and have always been, the superior wrestler. After all, I actually have eliminated Dylan Black from an X*Crown match. I’ve held that title. I’ve been a world champion TWICE in this network era. Even with an army, an airship, a circus of prison goons in orchestrated human cock fights … have you come close to tasting that glory? I mean it, for someone so smug and narcissistic, you sure don’t seem to be able to fake your way to the top. But … all of that … is secondary. Honestly? I don’t CARE about proving my superiority to you. I’ve done it. I don’t care about the scorecard. Wins and losses haven’t been important outside of title and contender matches in some time. Not to me. I don’t NEED to prove anything to anyone, least of all you, or me.
*He ties the left boot and yanks extra hard as the rage builds in him*
Death Trap: This is personal. You picked me as a target because I did a favor for a man I respect. And then you and your new ally, who you usurped and then had crawl back to you like the Sad Dog he is, found ways to keep me here, and make my life miserable. You made this about ending my career. So spare me the pleasantries and sad stories. Spare me the story of how you fucked some paid for whore and cried to your wife … while she was actively trying to screw another pair of men’s brains out. Spare me the sob stories. Spare me the lies to make yourself seem like you ‘aren’t so bad!’
*He pulls the laces on the right boot tight and ties them off before he picks up his hat and places it on his head … and something is off. He feels something gel like on the hat.*
Death Trap: Uh … that is to say …
*he pulls on the hat … his hair begins to lift with the hat. He lets the hat rest on his head. Convinced it will be fine after a bit of time. Yeah sure.*
Death Trap: … Armand this is not the gloating, arrogant Death Trap the KGB is used to beating down. This is the world ender. This is the faction killer. The company savior. This is what happens when you flip the switch and make me get serious. Few people realize I have another level. I try not to get into that mode as I’m getting older. I don’t want to burn the fuel all at once. But when the situation calls for it? Well … I get mad. And then I choke people out. Ask Hardcore Harry how that feels. Ask Reeshi what it’s like to wake up after the invincibility aura falls. Ask Eichi Yamaguchi where he had to go after I finished with him. Or better yet? Wait until a few minutes from now … and see what happens when you wake up in the medical room. Probably flanked by an army of clowns with crushed tracheas.
*DT stands up and struggles with the hat which has now firmly glued his head and hair to itself. A grimace and a grunt escape the XHF Legend as he tries to maintain composure and find a way out.*
Death Trap: You are mistaken Armand. Tonight will not be a respectful encounter. I have none for you. Should you choose to play fair, I might just gain a modicum of respect. But I’ve yet to see these vaunted skills you brag about. So show me what you can do. And I’ll show you why you need to back the fuck off and let me do my thing. All I want is to entertain. All I need is to hear the fans roar. All YOU have to do is let me do my thing and maybe you won’t get tangled up in these games. After all, you can’t win titles if you are so preoccupied hurting people and fighting them off when they reasonably look for revenge.
*He yanks*
Death Trap: GAH! What did I get on thi-
*He looks at his duffel bag which is still closed. His hat was in the bag … the arena is only responsible for his tights. A look of realization hits as he looks at the hat in the mirror, since he can’t get it off his head. “ReVenant Bowling! Sucker!”
Death Trap: Ah … well … I guess we both have something to learn about being careful not to tunnel vision. *Sigh* Armand, look. Tonight? We end this. I get my victory. I put you down. You likely come right back next week with the KGB by your side… trios titles, Amazon title, perhaps even SWAT World title … and you put on a show for the fans. No fire, no tricks, no bullshit. After all, what IS the end game of monopolizing a WRESTLING company? You learn from this battle and all the pain you all have gone through. You let the wrestlers here entertain. Or else I may have to come back again. And you won’t like that.
*He picks up his cell phone and dials a number*
Death Trap: Heed my warning and let this be the end of it, Armand. You don’t know what I am capable of. But I’ll give you a taste tonight. I’m ready for you. All it takes is to spring the trap-
Dr. Chaos: Mistress Discipline’s manager speaking, what can we do you for?
Death Trap: Chaos … odd question … Do you know how to get sticky white goo out of your hair?
*DT looks at the gorilla glue on the table where the hat was sitting and mumbles about Keith Williams as the laughter on the other end of the phone becomes uproarious and we hear:*
Mistress Discipline: Chaos? Who is it? What is so funny? I have so many questions!
*We open in a dark room as we hear the previous statement through the door. We hear the door handle jiggle and then light streams into the locker room. A man in an Armani suit steps into the room, hair spiked up in the front, sunglasses on his face, duffel bag on his shoulder. The lights click on as the man closes the door behind him. He pulls the sunglasses from his face and clips them via the left ear piece to the pocket on his suit coat. He turns to the camera and stops dead in his tracks. It’s everyone’s favorite hero and punchline, Death Trap.*
Death Trap: Qué pasó? What the hell … Soutter really set up a camera in my locker room? Or … oh this is one of those ribs… well …
*He walks to the camera and sees it is broadcasting. It’s also … really poorly hidden … like it’s an obvious TV camera broadcasting to the arena and XHF Network … hidden in a pile of Rally Jackson merch.*
Death Trap: Piss poor. No rib for you, asshole. … But he’s for another day. May as well make use of this camera.
*DT walks past an end table with a bowler hat sitting on it. It is oddly sitting on its top with the brim facing up. He pays it no mind and dumps his sunglasses onto the table with it. He slowly pulls his suit jacket off and hangs it in the locker closet with his trademark Mariners compass and Italian flag emblazoned interlocked DT logo.*
Death Trap: Tonight … is the first step. The first step in reigning in the rampant horror that is the cancerous KGB. It’s only sad that it’s not End of Days yet. Because it’s where we sit for the KGB tonight. Requiem, pax, all that shit. Rest in pieces. Couldn’t happen to a worse group of assholes. It started with the tag titles going away. And then Suit lost his shot at maintaining a stranglehold on the marketability of one, Jonnie Valentine. I hear he’s wrestling’s favorite martian! Or something like that. Gotta say, we got off on the wrong foot, but taking it to the founder is impressive. Respect. Much as I dislike the man, Soutter is a big bopping bruiser and took it to me last show. Credit where it’s due! Unlike Mongo, the size isn’t all jell-o pudding!
*DT steps behind a screen set up in the room. Wouldn’t want to give Rally the satisfaction right?*
Death Trap: The better man. Armand … look. I know you aren’t exactly the kind of guy to see logic. Or have empathy. But you can surely see why I am hesitant to listen to a word you have to say. The first time it was a one on one match and I had to beat down 3 guys to get to you, while you wore shoes in a barefoot LEGO match. The second time it was one on one, I had you put down and beaten. And someone dressed as the medic who was SUPPOSED to call the match, attacked me and tied me to a gurney before I realized who it was. The guy who lost was the CONSCIOUS wrestler.
*We see his shadow pull the tie off and hang it over the screen, then the vest comes off. It gets neatly placed on a hangar and put in the locker, his hand reaching out from the screen to hang it.*
Death Trap: You will not the lack of you ever actually going ONE ON ONE with me … despite your word. And the distinct lack of you actually being awake to see any victories. But fine, the record shows you technically beat me. I’m good with that. I get it. Every big godfather type needs a marquee win. And who bigger than the Main Attraction.
*Off comes the pressed pants, tossed over the screen as well. We see him reaching into a different locker where his ring attire has been laid out by the helpful SWAT staff. Hey at least Paul makes sure to hire effective behind the scenes workers. Must pay them well to deal with all the shit Frostbite puts them through.*
Death Trap: But spare me the whole rubber match schpiel about the better man. A) Until you manage to wrestle an entire match without help, something I think I’ve yet to see in watching RSW, SWAT and now NPW … I refuse to entertain the option that you won’t return to form. I’m not stupid. I’m old enough to know when a man is a liar. And you sir, are the worst of the worst. You don’t have an honest bone in your body. You wouldn’t be capable of accepting a loss without a henchman to blame, even if it were God himself smiting you for all the various sins and crimes on your ledger.
*The tights go on and DT steps out from behind the screen. He tosses the hoodie on and zips it before sighing. He looks into the camera as he sits on a chair to lace his boots*
Death Trap: Armand, don’t fool yourself. I am, and have always been the better man. I am, and have always been, the superior wrestler. After all, I actually have eliminated Dylan Black from an X*Crown match. I’ve held that title. I’ve been a world champion TWICE in this network era. Even with an army, an airship, a circus of prison goons in orchestrated human cock fights … have you come close to tasting that glory? I mean it, for someone so smug and narcissistic, you sure don’t seem to be able to fake your way to the top. But … all of that … is secondary. Honestly? I don’t CARE about proving my superiority to you. I’ve done it. I don’t care about the scorecard. Wins and losses haven’t been important outside of title and contender matches in some time. Not to me. I don’t NEED to prove anything to anyone, least of all you, or me.
*He ties the left boot and yanks extra hard as the rage builds in him*
Death Trap: This is personal. You picked me as a target because I did a favor for a man I respect. And then you and your new ally, who you usurped and then had crawl back to you like the Sad Dog he is, found ways to keep me here, and make my life miserable. You made this about ending my career. So spare me the pleasantries and sad stories. Spare me the story of how you fucked some paid for whore and cried to your wife … while she was actively trying to screw another pair of men’s brains out. Spare me the sob stories. Spare me the lies to make yourself seem like you ‘aren’t so bad!’
*He pulls the laces on the right boot tight and ties them off before he picks up his hat and places it on his head … and something is off. He feels something gel like on the hat.*
Death Trap: Uh … that is to say …
*he pulls on the hat … his hair begins to lift with the hat. He lets the hat rest on his head. Convinced it will be fine after a bit of time. Yeah sure.*
Death Trap: … Armand this is not the gloating, arrogant Death Trap the KGB is used to beating down. This is the world ender. This is the faction killer. The company savior. This is what happens when you flip the switch and make me get serious. Few people realize I have another level. I try not to get into that mode as I’m getting older. I don’t want to burn the fuel all at once. But when the situation calls for it? Well … I get mad. And then I choke people out. Ask Hardcore Harry how that feels. Ask Reeshi what it’s like to wake up after the invincibility aura falls. Ask Eichi Yamaguchi where he had to go after I finished with him. Or better yet? Wait until a few minutes from now … and see what happens when you wake up in the medical room. Probably flanked by an army of clowns with crushed tracheas.
*DT stands up and struggles with the hat which has now firmly glued his head and hair to itself. A grimace and a grunt escape the XHF Legend as he tries to maintain composure and find a way out.*
Death Trap: You are mistaken Armand. Tonight will not be a respectful encounter. I have none for you. Should you choose to play fair, I might just gain a modicum of respect. But I’ve yet to see these vaunted skills you brag about. So show me what you can do. And I’ll show you why you need to back the fuck off and let me do my thing. All I want is to entertain. All I need is to hear the fans roar. All YOU have to do is let me do my thing and maybe you won’t get tangled up in these games. After all, you can’t win titles if you are so preoccupied hurting people and fighting them off when they reasonably look for revenge.
*He yanks*
Death Trap: GAH! What did I get on thi-
*He looks at his duffel bag which is still closed. His hat was in the bag … the arena is only responsible for his tights. A look of realization hits as he looks at the hat in the mirror, since he can’t get it off his head. “ReVenant Bowling! Sucker!”
Death Trap: Ah … well … I guess we both have something to learn about being careful not to tunnel vision. *Sigh* Armand, look. Tonight? We end this. I get my victory. I put you down. You likely come right back next week with the KGB by your side… trios titles, Amazon title, perhaps even SWAT World title … and you put on a show for the fans. No fire, no tricks, no bullshit. After all, what IS the end game of monopolizing a WRESTLING company? You learn from this battle and all the pain you all have gone through. You let the wrestlers here entertain. Or else I may have to come back again. And you won’t like that.
*He picks up his cell phone and dials a number*
Death Trap: Heed my warning and let this be the end of it, Armand. You don’t know what I am capable of. But I’ll give you a taste tonight. I’m ready for you. All it takes is to spring the trap-
Dr. Chaos: Mistress Discipline’s manager speaking, what can we do you for?
Death Trap: Chaos … odd question … Do you know how to get sticky white goo out of your hair?
*DT looks at the gorilla glue on the table where the hat was sitting and mumbles about Keith Williams as the laughter on the other end of the phone becomes uproarious and we hear:*
Mistress Discipline: Chaos? Who is it? What is so funny? I have so many questions!
