A Conspiracy of Engineers
Feb 19, 2023 9:18:58 GMT -5
Union Jack and "The High Roller" Wesley Crane like this
Post by robriot on Feb 19, 2023 9:18:58 GMT -5
A car door opens. It creaks, because it’s old. You can’t buy Ford Cortinas anymore, despite the demand generated by The Bastards continuing to drive this one everywhere. Even if you could find one second-hand somewhere, you wouldn’t find it in yellow. Why do The Bastards drive an old, yellow Ford Cortina?
Well, they’re bastards. Don’t look for sense or logic where there’s often none to be found.
Nobody’s stepped out of the car yet, but the camera pans along the length of the battered old vehicle while we’re waiting. Real wrestling fans know it well, so they know there’s something missing:- Title belts. As a gimmick, a statement of intent, or merely a boast - who knows which - The Bastards always hammer their championship belts onto the body of their car. The hooks and the nails are there, but the belts are not. One of them - the W:UK World Heavyweight Championship - was lost to Wesley Crane in Los Angeles. As for the others?
Ah. Two of them are right there over the broad shoulders of Rob Riot as he steps out of the open car door and faces the camera. He's carrying the W:UK Commonwealth Championship and one of the W:UK Tag Team Championships. Stripped to the waist and dressed in his black silk ring pants, Riot is here to talk business.
"There is a conspiracy at the heart of Wrestle:UK. There has been for months, but the people behind it are getting brave. They're stepping out into the open. See, W:UK is the hottest ticket in the pro wrestling world, but it has a problem. It has a sickness called The Bastards, and so long as the sickness is there, people don't want to get too close. Management tries to recruit people, but they snivel and cower because they don't want to come face-to-face with The Bastards. Cross-promotional events are held, but promotions like HKW soil themselves on the grand stage because they can't compete with The Bastards. We're the fuel that propels this company forward, but we're also the gatekeepers that hold everybody else back. So what does management do?"
Riot hawks, spits, and scrubs the spit out on the floor with his boot disdainfully.
“Management screws us.”
The Riot Star walks to the bonnet of the car (or the hood, for you Americans) and pats the space where the World Heavyweight Championship used to be.
"Billy Fowler put this company on the map. He was its first World Heavyweight Championship. Sure, Eddie Havok got one over him on a lucky night, but Fowler got it back. Then he beats back Wesley Crane, the upstart. But management doesn't like that. Management has Wesley Crane pegged for the company's new poster boy, so Crane gets another shot. This time he gets the job done. Does Billy get a rematch like Crane did? No, Billy has to enter some kind of Elimination Chamber qualifying match and fight for scraps when he should be getting a one-on-one shot. Management didn't want Billy to be the champion, so Billy had to get screwed. Then there's this."
Picking the Commonwealth Championship off his shoulder, Riot brandishes it at the camera.
"I beat Eron Hunter to win this title, and I shut Ronnie Long's fat mouth and put him on the shelf when I did it. I could elevate this title to the next level. Hell, so long as I've got this, and the World Championship is in the hands of someone like Crane, the Commonwealth Championship is the main event in Wrestle:UK. I could defend it against anybody, but what happens? Management engineers a situation where Frank Windsor becomes the number one contender. I have to fight my stablemate, my running buddy, my brother, because Mr Blood and his acolytes think they can drive a wedge between us. Apparently, somebody doesn't know their history. Me and Frank have fought before, morons, and we'll happily do it again. It'll be a blockbuster, and you'll make money despite yourselves, but if you think you'll damage the fabric of The Bastards, you're dreaming. Then there's this."
Riot puts the Commonwealth Championship down on the bonnet of the car and lifts his Tag Team Championship high above his head.
"The calling card. Everyone's running scared of The Bastards. Nobody wants to try the tag division while The Bastards hold the straps, but The Bastards can't be beaten. A year goes by. So what do you do? You engineer a situation where we're almost guaranteed to lose. You'll get these titles off us via any means necessary and open the division up that way. Hell, you'll put blood in the water and invite anyone and everyone with a pulse into this gauntlet so long they might get the job done. I hear the caretaker's involved, and the guys who run props, and the girls who work the phones in the ticket office. Any of them would be better competition than what you've given us. Hell, I'm not sure I even KNOW what you've given us because every time I go to take a shit and check my phone, someone else has either dropped out or stepped in."
He lowers the tag belt, picks up the Commonwealth belt, and returns to the car door, throwing the championships onto the passenger seat and leaning on the open door frame.
"I don't care who we're in there with. I don't care who comes. If they're all of the calibre of Rage and Cage - a pair of smooth-brained chimps who don't know two guys who have fifteen world championships between them when they see them - we have nothing to worry about. You're all squabbling children, and you've all got the wrong focus. You're all worried about beating The Bastards when you should be worried about beating each other. All we've got to do is let you beat each other down, and then we feed off the scraps. You need to win. All we need to do is survive. And if a miracle happens? If somehow, some way, someone manages to eliminate The Bastards from the gauntlet? Then maybe that's bad luck for us, but remember…"
Riot climbs into the Cortina and starts the engine.
…bad luck always comes in threes.”
The Riot Star shuts the door and drives away in wrestling's most famous automobile.
Well, they’re bastards. Don’t look for sense or logic where there’s often none to be found.
Nobody’s stepped out of the car yet, but the camera pans along the length of the battered old vehicle while we’re waiting. Real wrestling fans know it well, so they know there’s something missing:- Title belts. As a gimmick, a statement of intent, or merely a boast - who knows which - The Bastards always hammer their championship belts onto the body of their car. The hooks and the nails are there, but the belts are not. One of them - the W:UK World Heavyweight Championship - was lost to Wesley Crane in Los Angeles. As for the others?
Ah. Two of them are right there over the broad shoulders of Rob Riot as he steps out of the open car door and faces the camera. He's carrying the W:UK Commonwealth Championship and one of the W:UK Tag Team Championships. Stripped to the waist and dressed in his black silk ring pants, Riot is here to talk business.
"There is a conspiracy at the heart of Wrestle:UK. There has been for months, but the people behind it are getting brave. They're stepping out into the open. See, W:UK is the hottest ticket in the pro wrestling world, but it has a problem. It has a sickness called The Bastards, and so long as the sickness is there, people don't want to get too close. Management tries to recruit people, but they snivel and cower because they don't want to come face-to-face with The Bastards. Cross-promotional events are held, but promotions like HKW soil themselves on the grand stage because they can't compete with The Bastards. We're the fuel that propels this company forward, but we're also the gatekeepers that hold everybody else back. So what does management do?"
Riot hawks, spits, and scrubs the spit out on the floor with his boot disdainfully.
“Management screws us.”
The Riot Star walks to the bonnet of the car (or the hood, for you Americans) and pats the space where the World Heavyweight Championship used to be.
"Billy Fowler put this company on the map. He was its first World Heavyweight Championship. Sure, Eddie Havok got one over him on a lucky night, but Fowler got it back. Then he beats back Wesley Crane, the upstart. But management doesn't like that. Management has Wesley Crane pegged for the company's new poster boy, so Crane gets another shot. This time he gets the job done. Does Billy get a rematch like Crane did? No, Billy has to enter some kind of Elimination Chamber qualifying match and fight for scraps when he should be getting a one-on-one shot. Management didn't want Billy to be the champion, so Billy had to get screwed. Then there's this."
Picking the Commonwealth Championship off his shoulder, Riot brandishes it at the camera.
"I beat Eron Hunter to win this title, and I shut Ronnie Long's fat mouth and put him on the shelf when I did it. I could elevate this title to the next level. Hell, so long as I've got this, and the World Championship is in the hands of someone like Crane, the Commonwealth Championship is the main event in Wrestle:UK. I could defend it against anybody, but what happens? Management engineers a situation where Frank Windsor becomes the number one contender. I have to fight my stablemate, my running buddy, my brother, because Mr Blood and his acolytes think they can drive a wedge between us. Apparently, somebody doesn't know their history. Me and Frank have fought before, morons, and we'll happily do it again. It'll be a blockbuster, and you'll make money despite yourselves, but if you think you'll damage the fabric of The Bastards, you're dreaming. Then there's this."
Riot puts the Commonwealth Championship down on the bonnet of the car and lifts his Tag Team Championship high above his head.
"The calling card. Everyone's running scared of The Bastards. Nobody wants to try the tag division while The Bastards hold the straps, but The Bastards can't be beaten. A year goes by. So what do you do? You engineer a situation where we're almost guaranteed to lose. You'll get these titles off us via any means necessary and open the division up that way. Hell, you'll put blood in the water and invite anyone and everyone with a pulse into this gauntlet so long they might get the job done. I hear the caretaker's involved, and the guys who run props, and the girls who work the phones in the ticket office. Any of them would be better competition than what you've given us. Hell, I'm not sure I even KNOW what you've given us because every time I go to take a shit and check my phone, someone else has either dropped out or stepped in."
He lowers the tag belt, picks up the Commonwealth belt, and returns to the car door, throwing the championships onto the passenger seat and leaning on the open door frame.
"I don't care who we're in there with. I don't care who comes. If they're all of the calibre of Rage and Cage - a pair of smooth-brained chimps who don't know two guys who have fifteen world championships between them when they see them - we have nothing to worry about. You're all squabbling children, and you've all got the wrong focus. You're all worried about beating The Bastards when you should be worried about beating each other. All we've got to do is let you beat each other down, and then we feed off the scraps. You need to win. All we need to do is survive. And if a miracle happens? If somehow, some way, someone manages to eliminate The Bastards from the gauntlet? Then maybe that's bad luck for us, but remember…"
Riot climbs into the Cortina and starts the engine.
…bad luck always comes in threes.”
The Riot Star shuts the door and drives away in wrestling's most famous automobile.