Post by Jimbo on Feb 9, 2022 2:44:12 GMT -5
We fade in from black to a black-and-white shot of the crumbling interior walls of an abandoned chapel. A large man sits on the left, hunched over, close to the aisle on the first pew. Up behind the time ravaged pulpit stands a man dressed in an all black suit with his face obscured by a tentacled mask.
“...And so, as I stood there on that edge, into the darkness I peered.”
The camera pulls in tighter as the familiar voice echoes. The camera approaches, moving past the first sets of pews. The shot becomes clearer. Mehrunes Smith stands behind the pulpit with a book open in front of him. One hand scanning the page, his other hand raised.
“Long I stood there, wondering, fearing. I became insane, with horrible intervals of sanity. It was then I understood.”
The man in the pew nods his head along to Mehrunes words.
“The End has come.”
The words echo. Mehrunes Smith closes the book and lifts his head, his eyes peering from inside the mask and into the camera.
“I spent time in this trance of mine, dreaming dreams that had been dreamed by many before. I am not the first, I am not the last, I am merely the present. I have been chosen to send It’s message and sent the message is what I have done.”
He makes his way around the side of the pulpit, leaning an arm on it as he continues. He gestures to the smashed window.
“Look outside! We are living in it. All as it was written and all as it was dreamed. The End is not something to fear, but instead It is something to embrace. It is the only way to live free. Fear is the mind-killer! Fearing The End is the little death, the first death that you will die.”
He lets the words sit, merely shaking his head.
“We as professionals understand the concepts of victory and defeat. But The End is the one thing that no matter how hard you fight, or how much you struggle, The End always wins.”
He looks down at the creaking floorboards. The man sitting now stands, a heavy overcoat trying to hide the man's muscular frame. The man turns, revealing himself to be none other than Smith's partner. Fargo flashes a quick grin to the camera.
“And there ain’t no point in running from The End.”
Fargo pauses with a half chuckle and shakes his head before continuing.
“Ya just die tired and that’s something that Dunne and that manchild just don’t realize. You don't beat The End. You don't kill The End. You only delay it. At Ascendancy, they scored the upset, sure. More like they got lucky. Whatever ya see it as, it all leads back to the same result.”
“They won.”
Fargo rolls his head, seemingly rolling his eyes behind his round sunglasses, he sarcastically claps. Slowly.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
“So, congratulations, kid! Ya finally proved your worth! On that night, Ascendancy Twenty-Eight, you got real goddamn lucky and you know you did! I can feel your fear from here. You’re just quaking in your shoes, dreading stepping back into the ring with me, because you know that on that night you accomplished somethin’ that you got no shot at ever doing again. At Masquerade, there will be no horseshoe up your ass, by the skin of ya teeth, pure dumb luck to save ya! If you want to keep those titles, you’re gonna have to do a little bit more than get lucky.”
Mehrunes steps down from the pulpit, approaching his partner and the camera.
“But, we can’t write off everything as luck. We understand that we made mistakes, in both preparation AND in practice. But mistakes? Mistakes can be corrected. Mistakes HAVE been corrected.”
Mehrunes eyes dart toward his partner, who responds in kind with a solemn nod.
“We also realize that regardless of who walks out of Masquerade as NLW Tag Team Champions, the story between Tilted Cartridges and The End will not be over, that I can guarantee.”
Fargo points at the camera.
“‘Cause Masquerade ain’t just a tag team match, is it? There’s some added elements there. First of all, it’s a ladder match, a match that can’t end by some flash roll-up! Secondly, there ain’t no rules here. But ya see? These are things that Mehrunes and myself have done before. We’ve been in ladder matches before, we’ve won hardcore matches before, hell, there ain’t a whole lot of stipulations left that we haven’t been involved in, both individually and as a team. But, the third added element?”
Fargo tilts his head.
“The Academy. The most dangerous element of them all. An element that we haven’t faced before.”
Fargo nods his head. He raises two fingers, holding them to the camera.
“Since day one, there’s been two standout teams associated with Next Level Wrestling. The Goons and The New South. But, in the background, there has been a third team, right there with ‘em. The Academy. See, we’ve been in ladder matches before, we’ve faced Tilted Cartridges, hell, we beat ‘em. Clean. Definitively. But, The Academy? Well, that’s just next level.”
Even behind the mirrored shades, Fargo fights the temptation to wink. Mehrunes picks up from where his partner left off.
“The Academy is not a team we’ve had the opportunity to face thus far. Which is exactly why The Academy being involved in this match makes them the most dangerous. Leon Chant and Riley Richards are men we have only ever observed. We watched Leon Chant capture the NLW World Heavyweight Championship for his second time, on the very show where we beat Tilted Cartridges to advance the tag team championship tournament. We also watched Leon Chant lose that title at the same show we won the aforementioned tournament.”
“Our only chance we’ve had to face ya was robbed from us by The New South when they knocked you boys out of that tournament!”
Mehrunes nods.
“And we watched Riley Richards hook the leg of David Goon to secure both of your places at Masquerade. And right there behind it all? The man himself. Rob Arnold. A snake in the grass if there ever was one. Surely, you've both made him proud. You beat not only The Goons, but The New South too. All in the same match. An achievement that no one is going to scoff at. But, what happens when a man like that decides that you're not worth it anymore?”
Fargo runs his hand along his jaw.
“Now, could we get upset that our rightful rematch has been turned into not only a ladder match, but a triple threat also? Sure. We could get upset about it. We could get mad even. But, there’s no point. Because we know that as long as we are around, we will never be far from those titles. You could’ve put The New South in this match. Hell, you could’ve tossed The Goons in it, too. We don’t care. We are inevitable. THE END IS INEVITABLE!”
“The quicker you understand that, the easier for you it will become.”
Mehrunes extends a hand to the camera.
“All you have to do is take my hand and embrace it. Being a slave to fear only serves to weaken, embrace it and it will become your greatest weapon. Just as it is ours.”
Fargo smirks over his partner's shoulder.
“Surely, you can feel it slipping. Can’t ya, Dunne? Hey, Kid? You’ve truly become Underdog Champions, and now you have a set of belts to prove it. Unfortunately, for you, your time in the sun is just about up. The clock is ticking and when that sumbitch hits midnight?”
The smirk stretches into an unsettling grin.
“Time’s up. So, I’d suggest holding onto it tight. Cherish this high your ridin’ while it lasts, coz it ain’t gonna last too long. We have goals we want to accomplish, and the only way they can be accomplished is by us holding those belts.”
Mehrunes simply nods.
“Our main goal going into Supremacy is redemption. The taste of losing those championships in our first defense will not be washed away. That black mark on our record can never be erased. The embarrassment…”
“Is painful.”
Smith steps back shaking his head.
“The only way these things can be eased is by making up for mistakes that have been made, by bringing those championships back to where they should have stayed!”
Mehrunes places a hand on his partner’s shoulder.
“We walk into Masquerade ready to wage war. We paid the price for our loss. Now? We take back what was once ours, and we don’t care how much blood has to get spilled, or how many tables have to get broken.”
“At Masquerade, we will do what must be done. Three teams will walk into chaos. But…"
Smith puts his head down, as Fargo stares into the camera.
“Only The End will remain.”