Post by Dave D-Flipz on Jul 20, 2023 0:44:14 GMT -5
"The Island of Misfit Mongrels. The Broken Beasties. No need to tip me fer the monikers ya mugs. One of the few free services ol’ Aiden provides. And isn’t it the fair dinkum, cuz look at the lot’a’ya."
Aiden sits on the steps of the Diamond Training Facility, a healthy sweat on his brow and soaking his guinea tee. He snorts and spits a mildly bloody loogie to the ground and laughs.
"On the one hand, there is my ol’ nemesis of sorts, Theo. The wayward actor caught up in this violent stage play of fisticuffs. Ya got me the first time, wore me out after I tried to single handedly take out the maniac clown. But last time … I got my trophy. One of these days we’ll get a singles showcase. But for now you’ll have to settle for another tag outing. Clearly the brass know ya ain’t ready for the singles treatment. You won that four-way at Tapout 12 but since then? Broken. Faded. A waste. I’d say yer a shell o’ yer former self but … what was he but a hollow shell anyways? They say all the world’s a stage and we are merely players. Well you have found the way to get played, haven’t you Theo?"
Merric tears his sweaty top off and tosses it in the garbage can before pulling out a nicotine patch and slapping it on his bicep. He stretches and then wipes his brow with his hairy arm. Clearly he’s been getting in a good workout with some of the students of the DTF facility. Good ol’ Aiden really embracing being DTF.
"All I keep hearing from every bloke and Sheila is how talented this masked man is. What a star! What potential. He is dominant. Sir, I ain’t seen any of that. I’ve seen a man. Broken. Multiple times over. Someone who life has stepped on and who has finally run out of petrol in the tank to keep puttering on to the next station. You came out guns blazing. You faltered and hurt your interpreter and had to speak up, and then the mystique was gone. The aura you had was shattered. Then you stabbed your own throat out in anticipation of a world title match. Bold strategy Cotton … how did that work our for ya?"
Aiden chuckles as he mimes to the camera giving himself a tracheotomy and then doing that face wipe motion from smile, to blank, to sad, to blank, to making a silly face … before he loses it.
"Ain’t no respect coming from me, Broadway. You had shots and you wasted them. And see, as a hunter, that bothers me. You don’t waste shots. It hurts me that I failed on my first shots at the X*Crown. But I have a whole set in the magazine. Yer shooting blanks."
He stops and then looks into the camera.
"And then there’s NOMAD. BIG hoss. Unbeatable. Suppose’n you be thinking you can outslug me like you did all those early TAPOUT stars. News flash boyo, ol’ Merric here is the true ace of the slugfest. Ain’t NONE who can put out damage like me. And a seasoned hunter knows the signs of weakness. The minute the sheen came off the new toy … it was as predicted. No disrespect regarding the punk who took you out, but let’s remember you barely squeaked past my main squeeze on a destroyed arm."
Merric taps his shoulder … then he puts his arm to his back as he mimics the shattering NOMAD dealt with at the hand of the Perverse Priest of Pain.
"NOMAD … life is pain, you should know that. Ain’t no sympathy from me. Life beat me down as much as any man, and I stand here having conquered every challenge. You needed to go find who you really were, relocate that sense of self. I ain’t never been fool enough to lose it. Talk all you want about these preconceived notions of my intelligence … or my inability to play nice with others. It’s old territory. Territory I’ve passed. I think I proved I can play nice when the incentive is there. And a trophy from the former #1 in the company, a rubber match victory over a rival ... and a waiting title opportunity? Yeah I think I can play bloody nice ya drongo."
Aiden looks off into the distance, weighing his next words. He looks into the camera with a serious look, having decided how this whole match is going to play out.
"Here’s the facts, you two are outclassed. Raiden and I? We may not have worked together before but there’s a cohesion of styles here. See we both like brutalizing our opponents. Pain is the best seasoning I always say. See me? I’m the hammer and anvil. I hit you hard and shape the flow of the match with reckless wanton physicality. And Raiden? He’s the forceps and scalpel, prying and slicing you apart with ruthless precision and merciless violence. When you’re as savage as us? You don’t need to be a well-oiled machine. After all, I’m a brute force kinda bloke meself."
Merric begins to walk to his rental car, turns out Diamond is stricter about his policy on parking hunting lodges at his arena than the Sands is.
"So you can bank on us being bad teammates, bank on some mistakes, bank on whatever you want … because this is Vegas … and you can bet on whatever you want. But Raiden and I? We’re the house. And the house always win. I respect Ishimori. He’s a hunter of a different sort. He’s vicious and calculated. Like me. You already know I can work just fine with these Harbingers. I think yer graspin’ at straws to find a reason to hope. Good. Crushing yer spirits will be all the sweeter. Put simply we both have every incentive to win. A debut looking to pick up where is partner left off, and a man out to leap to the title picture. All you have is nostalgia for the winners you used to be. A win does nothing fer you two here. We want it more. We need it more. And I’m sick of being shorted of things I NEED. The Thespian back on stage? He’s headed for a quick hook. And the NOMAD may walk again … until the 23rd … then he’ll be lucky to breathe without a machine doing it for him. You wanna know pain NOMAD? You can consider it a date…"
The scene cuts to Aiden in what appears to be a war room/bunker style of abode. He is standing over a small round table with papers and folders strewn over it. Photographs dot the piles of refuse. Against the wall is a corkboard, and on the corkboard are blueprints, and a detailed list that is blurred out to the Tapout audience watching all of this. Aiden strokes his stubble and crumples one list and tosses it into the bin. Into the room walks Tucker Bernard … with an oddly shaped shadow cast on the wall behind him…
"Now, what’s all this rubbish?"
Aiden cocks his head up and looks over his shoulder at his friend. He chuckles.
"This … is a job. After the grand showcase of the future number one contender and his technical wizard of a partner defeating two of the formerly most feared names in NLW and Tapout … I have a right job to do don’t I? Night of Champions. I been paid, so I take it seriously. Diamond wants protection … assurances. Well I need a plan. Dunno if Long or Tug and the security have it in them to do what is necessary to stop this Poena freak. That’s where the big guns come in."
"But if you win, you are at the top of the list for the next shot at the title. Why would you help Jack?"
"Numero uno: I was paid. This is a job. Once this match with Poena is over, and the post match fracas dies down … Poena goes to the back of the line again. And if he wants his ‘golden idol’ he will have to focus elsewhere for a bit. And a win for Jack would surely leave him licking his wounds and thinking up new tortures for a hot minute. Numero dos: If I become the number one contender, I need to beat the champ at his best. If Jack loses? My job is to get him out of dodge with all his bits intact. If he wins? My job is to keep him healthy so there’s no doubt when I collect my TRUE fee or this job."
"Collecting insider information on a potential hunt … Merric ya sly dingo!"
"Let it never be said that Aiden Merric is a fool. Besides, I respect Diamond and Raiden. Man deserves to hold his trophy until someone is actually better than him. I ain’t no stranger to cutting people but … torture … hunting children … this Poena isn’t a real man. He’s more a monster than any the beasties I collect. He may be the one hunt I don’t take a trophy from. Bad juju. Besides … I still owe him his receipts for how he dared to damage my little lady!"
The sound of light footsteps on creaking wood echo behind Tucker as the odd shadow strolls into the room.
"I’m sorry, who you calling … ‘little lady?’"
The sound in the room is sucked out much like the color in Merric’s face. It’s so silent you could almost hear a shotgun get cocked … I mean a pin drop …
Aiden sits on the steps of the Diamond Training Facility, a healthy sweat on his brow and soaking his guinea tee. He snorts and spits a mildly bloody loogie to the ground and laughs.
"On the one hand, there is my ol’ nemesis of sorts, Theo. The wayward actor caught up in this violent stage play of fisticuffs. Ya got me the first time, wore me out after I tried to single handedly take out the maniac clown. But last time … I got my trophy. One of these days we’ll get a singles showcase. But for now you’ll have to settle for another tag outing. Clearly the brass know ya ain’t ready for the singles treatment. You won that four-way at Tapout 12 but since then? Broken. Faded. A waste. I’d say yer a shell o’ yer former self but … what was he but a hollow shell anyways? They say all the world’s a stage and we are merely players. Well you have found the way to get played, haven’t you Theo?"
Merric tears his sweaty top off and tosses it in the garbage can before pulling out a nicotine patch and slapping it on his bicep. He stretches and then wipes his brow with his hairy arm. Clearly he’s been getting in a good workout with some of the students of the DTF facility. Good ol’ Aiden really embracing being DTF.
"All I keep hearing from every bloke and Sheila is how talented this masked man is. What a star! What potential. He is dominant. Sir, I ain’t seen any of that. I’ve seen a man. Broken. Multiple times over. Someone who life has stepped on and who has finally run out of petrol in the tank to keep puttering on to the next station. You came out guns blazing. You faltered and hurt your interpreter and had to speak up, and then the mystique was gone. The aura you had was shattered. Then you stabbed your own throat out in anticipation of a world title match. Bold strategy Cotton … how did that work our for ya?"
Aiden chuckles as he mimes to the camera giving himself a tracheotomy and then doing that face wipe motion from smile, to blank, to sad, to blank, to making a silly face … before he loses it.
"Ain’t no respect coming from me, Broadway. You had shots and you wasted them. And see, as a hunter, that bothers me. You don’t waste shots. It hurts me that I failed on my first shots at the X*Crown. But I have a whole set in the magazine. Yer shooting blanks."
He stops and then looks into the camera.
"And then there’s NOMAD. BIG hoss. Unbeatable. Suppose’n you be thinking you can outslug me like you did all those early TAPOUT stars. News flash boyo, ol’ Merric here is the true ace of the slugfest. Ain’t NONE who can put out damage like me. And a seasoned hunter knows the signs of weakness. The minute the sheen came off the new toy … it was as predicted. No disrespect regarding the punk who took you out, but let’s remember you barely squeaked past my main squeeze on a destroyed arm."
Merric taps his shoulder … then he puts his arm to his back as he mimics the shattering NOMAD dealt with at the hand of the Perverse Priest of Pain.
"NOMAD … life is pain, you should know that. Ain’t no sympathy from me. Life beat me down as much as any man, and I stand here having conquered every challenge. You needed to go find who you really were, relocate that sense of self. I ain’t never been fool enough to lose it. Talk all you want about these preconceived notions of my intelligence … or my inability to play nice with others. It’s old territory. Territory I’ve passed. I think I proved I can play nice when the incentive is there. And a trophy from the former #1 in the company, a rubber match victory over a rival ... and a waiting title opportunity? Yeah I think I can play bloody nice ya drongo."
Aiden looks off into the distance, weighing his next words. He looks into the camera with a serious look, having decided how this whole match is going to play out.
"Here’s the facts, you two are outclassed. Raiden and I? We may not have worked together before but there’s a cohesion of styles here. See we both like brutalizing our opponents. Pain is the best seasoning I always say. See me? I’m the hammer and anvil. I hit you hard and shape the flow of the match with reckless wanton physicality. And Raiden? He’s the forceps and scalpel, prying and slicing you apart with ruthless precision and merciless violence. When you’re as savage as us? You don’t need to be a well-oiled machine. After all, I’m a brute force kinda bloke meself."
Merric begins to walk to his rental car, turns out Diamond is stricter about his policy on parking hunting lodges at his arena than the Sands is.
"So you can bank on us being bad teammates, bank on some mistakes, bank on whatever you want … because this is Vegas … and you can bet on whatever you want. But Raiden and I? We’re the house. And the house always win. I respect Ishimori. He’s a hunter of a different sort. He’s vicious and calculated. Like me. You already know I can work just fine with these Harbingers. I think yer graspin’ at straws to find a reason to hope. Good. Crushing yer spirits will be all the sweeter. Put simply we both have every incentive to win. A debut looking to pick up where is partner left off, and a man out to leap to the title picture. All you have is nostalgia for the winners you used to be. A win does nothing fer you two here. We want it more. We need it more. And I’m sick of being shorted of things I NEED. The Thespian back on stage? He’s headed for a quick hook. And the NOMAD may walk again … until the 23rd … then he’ll be lucky to breathe without a machine doing it for him. You wanna know pain NOMAD? You can consider it a date…"
The scene cuts to Aiden in what appears to be a war room/bunker style of abode. He is standing over a small round table with papers and folders strewn over it. Photographs dot the piles of refuse. Against the wall is a corkboard, and on the corkboard are blueprints, and a detailed list that is blurred out to the Tapout audience watching all of this. Aiden strokes his stubble and crumples one list and tosses it into the bin. Into the room walks Tucker Bernard … with an oddly shaped shadow cast on the wall behind him…
"Now, what’s all this rubbish?"
Aiden cocks his head up and looks over his shoulder at his friend. He chuckles.
"This … is a job. After the grand showcase of the future number one contender and his technical wizard of a partner defeating two of the formerly most feared names in NLW and Tapout … I have a right job to do don’t I? Night of Champions. I been paid, so I take it seriously. Diamond wants protection … assurances. Well I need a plan. Dunno if Long or Tug and the security have it in them to do what is necessary to stop this Poena freak. That’s where the big guns come in."
"But if you win, you are at the top of the list for the next shot at the title. Why would you help Jack?"
"Numero uno: I was paid. This is a job. Once this match with Poena is over, and the post match fracas dies down … Poena goes to the back of the line again. And if he wants his ‘golden idol’ he will have to focus elsewhere for a bit. And a win for Jack would surely leave him licking his wounds and thinking up new tortures for a hot minute. Numero dos: If I become the number one contender, I need to beat the champ at his best. If Jack loses? My job is to get him out of dodge with all his bits intact. If he wins? My job is to keep him healthy so there’s no doubt when I collect my TRUE fee or this job."
"Collecting insider information on a potential hunt … Merric ya sly dingo!"
"Let it never be said that Aiden Merric is a fool. Besides, I respect Diamond and Raiden. Man deserves to hold his trophy until someone is actually better than him. I ain’t no stranger to cutting people but … torture … hunting children … this Poena isn’t a real man. He’s more a monster than any the beasties I collect. He may be the one hunt I don’t take a trophy from. Bad juju. Besides … I still owe him his receipts for how he dared to damage my little lady!"
The sound of light footsteps on creaking wood echo behind Tucker as the odd shadow strolls into the room.
"I’m sorry, who you calling … ‘little lady?’"
The sound in the room is sucked out much like the color in Merric’s face. It’s so silent you could almost hear a shotgun get cocked … I mean a pin drop …