Start as you mean to carry on [RECOBA - ADRENALINE 1]
Apr 3, 2022 14:41:01 GMT -5
Mav., Drag, and 2 more like this
Post by Cross Recoba on Apr 3, 2022 14:41:01 GMT -5
The cameras open up to show Cross Recoba sitting at a table next to the bar at ZUMA in the heart of Knightsbridge, London. His suit jacket unbuttoned to take away the risk of creases, a Japanese whiskey sponsored Old Fashioned cradled in his hand. He stares into the glass as the liquid swirls around the glass before slowly raising his head towards the camera.
“Of all the questions that people have asked since I was announced on the roster and the card went out, only one really stands out. Not why I’m in the main-event, I am after all the XHF Box Office Smash, even Jason Long knows where the money lies with myself on the roster. Instead, it’s ‘Why Infinite Pro?’ and each time I hear the matter being raised I wonder if logic and common sense are also in global shortage.”
A smile forms across Cross’ mouth as he leans back into his chair and raises a leg to fold over the top of his knee.
“I run Tap Out, I don’t need to compete there…I’ve no desire to fall into the fool’s trap of trying to put a spotlight on myself in my own company - who’s the real sucker when that happens? I do, however, pay Jason Long for every match he appears in and, make no mistake, I’m not short of a buck or two but why wouldn’t I want to claim some of my own money back if it’s available?”
Lifting a manila envelope from the side of his chair, he empties the contents of it onto the table. The faces and profiles of Leo Reza, Irina Sokolov, and Reckless Jack are shown on-screen.
“Ultimately, I’m fighting for glory. I’m fighting to prove what I’ve told you all for so long - I am the best that the Network has. The only issue has been that despite putting on clinics and repeated show-stealing performances - no company has given me a shot! Yet here I find myself in the Infinite Power tournament and without looking at the betting line: my odds are almost certainly the shortest of the names announced so far. Sokolov and Reza? That’s an English fighter against a Russian one…in Dublin, doesn’t exactly scream out that tickets are going to be flying off the handle in the battle of the evils to the Irish folk, does it?”
He pushes the Russian and Englishman’s profiles to one side and places a hand on Reckless Jack’s.
“Instead, Long knows that his money is going to be earned in the battle in the main event. He has taken one of the most brutal and vicious competitors seen on the Network and tried to craft some Beauty and the Beast magic by putting him against myself!”
Recoba takes an extended sip from his drink, mulling over his next words.
“You know how many people beat me, Jack, in my eighteen months on the AWF roster? Three people. Whilst you’ve spent your career taking beating after beating to get wins, I’ve done everything in my power to ensure that I continue to be at the peak of my physical fitness. Whilst you’ve taken part in death-matches where the buckets of blood spilled have outnumbered the fans, you’ve placed yourself on the altar of barbarism and brutality and yet you’ve never received the payday that means you could save yourself from one more trip into sadism inside the ring. I’ve taken on people crazier than you and people who are tougher than you and I’ve come out the other side with my arm raised. How many miles are on those knees, Jack? Has it reached the point where tying your shoelaces is an exercise in attrition yet?”
Recoba’s smile grows wider still.
“When that bell rings and the attention is on us, what’s on your mind? What keeps you powering through? How are you going to contend with being overmatched? Sure, you can mix it up with styles that come without the sadism but how long can you keep that up in the ring with me? How are you going to counter the fact that you might have a title record the size of a giant but you’ve racked up injuries and aches almost double the length of it? How are you going to hit either Reckless Killing if I’ve spent the match breaking you down?”
Cross runs his hand through his hair as his rhythm picks up.
“You might be able to withstand pain but that doesn’t change the rudimentary fact that I’m fresher than you, I’m quicker than you, I’m smarter than you and I will take my time to break you down piece-by-piece until the idea of lifting me up into a Torture Rack or to slam me down with your Omega Ganso Bomb is nothing but that - a concept you can’t realise!”
The smile drops as Cross places down the glass and leans forward into the camera.
“There’s a reason that this is the main event and Jack, you’re not it. This match signals the return of Cross Recoba. This match’s reason for existing is to showcase what I can do to anyone who cared to forget it! This match is to lay down the marker for all who want to try and hang with me in the main event! If that doesn’t put the odds firmly against you - consider this, with two matches until the IPW crown their first Heavyweight Champion: do you think I’m bringing anything other than a masterclass in why I’m the champion-elect?”
“After all is said is done, your body may be shot and your hopes of a win in a new promotion may be dashed but you’ll still have your name and reputation. Don’t worry, I’ll carry the title defences whilst you sell your legacy out in yet another deathmatch for a dozen fans.”
Recoba pushes the glass to the middle of the table and walks out of shot.
“Of all the questions that people have asked since I was announced on the roster and the card went out, only one really stands out. Not why I’m in the main-event, I am after all the XHF Box Office Smash, even Jason Long knows where the money lies with myself on the roster. Instead, it’s ‘Why Infinite Pro?’ and each time I hear the matter being raised I wonder if logic and common sense are also in global shortage.”
A smile forms across Cross’ mouth as he leans back into his chair and raises a leg to fold over the top of his knee.
“I run Tap Out, I don’t need to compete there…I’ve no desire to fall into the fool’s trap of trying to put a spotlight on myself in my own company - who’s the real sucker when that happens? I do, however, pay Jason Long for every match he appears in and, make no mistake, I’m not short of a buck or two but why wouldn’t I want to claim some of my own money back if it’s available?”
Lifting a manila envelope from the side of his chair, he empties the contents of it onto the table. The faces and profiles of Leo Reza, Irina Sokolov, and Reckless Jack are shown on-screen.
“Ultimately, I’m fighting for glory. I’m fighting to prove what I’ve told you all for so long - I am the best that the Network has. The only issue has been that despite putting on clinics and repeated show-stealing performances - no company has given me a shot! Yet here I find myself in the Infinite Power tournament and without looking at the betting line: my odds are almost certainly the shortest of the names announced so far. Sokolov and Reza? That’s an English fighter against a Russian one…in Dublin, doesn’t exactly scream out that tickets are going to be flying off the handle in the battle of the evils to the Irish folk, does it?”
He pushes the Russian and Englishman’s profiles to one side and places a hand on Reckless Jack’s.
“Instead, Long knows that his money is going to be earned in the battle in the main event. He has taken one of the most brutal and vicious competitors seen on the Network and tried to craft some Beauty and the Beast magic by putting him against myself!”
Recoba takes an extended sip from his drink, mulling over his next words.
“You know how many people beat me, Jack, in my eighteen months on the AWF roster? Three people. Whilst you’ve spent your career taking beating after beating to get wins, I’ve done everything in my power to ensure that I continue to be at the peak of my physical fitness. Whilst you’ve taken part in death-matches where the buckets of blood spilled have outnumbered the fans, you’ve placed yourself on the altar of barbarism and brutality and yet you’ve never received the payday that means you could save yourself from one more trip into sadism inside the ring. I’ve taken on people crazier than you and people who are tougher than you and I’ve come out the other side with my arm raised. How many miles are on those knees, Jack? Has it reached the point where tying your shoelaces is an exercise in attrition yet?”
Recoba’s smile grows wider still.
“When that bell rings and the attention is on us, what’s on your mind? What keeps you powering through? How are you going to contend with being overmatched? Sure, you can mix it up with styles that come without the sadism but how long can you keep that up in the ring with me? How are you going to counter the fact that you might have a title record the size of a giant but you’ve racked up injuries and aches almost double the length of it? How are you going to hit either Reckless Killing if I’ve spent the match breaking you down?”
Cross runs his hand through his hair as his rhythm picks up.
“You might be able to withstand pain but that doesn’t change the rudimentary fact that I’m fresher than you, I’m quicker than you, I’m smarter than you and I will take my time to break you down piece-by-piece until the idea of lifting me up into a Torture Rack or to slam me down with your Omega Ganso Bomb is nothing but that - a concept you can’t realise!”
The smile drops as Cross places down the glass and leans forward into the camera.
“There’s a reason that this is the main event and Jack, you’re not it. This match signals the return of Cross Recoba. This match’s reason for existing is to showcase what I can do to anyone who cared to forget it! This match is to lay down the marker for all who want to try and hang with me in the main event! If that doesn’t put the odds firmly against you - consider this, with two matches until the IPW crown their first Heavyweight Champion: do you think I’m bringing anything other than a masterclass in why I’m the champion-elect?”
“After all is said is done, your body may be shot and your hopes of a win in a new promotion may be dashed but you’ll still have your name and reputation. Don’t worry, I’ll carry the title defences whilst you sell your legacy out in yet another deathmatch for a dozen fans.”
Recoba pushes the glass to the middle of the table and walks out of shot.
