Answers (Storm [Supremacy])
Jan 15, 2018 19:25:45 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Hyperion, and 1 more like this
Post by ForeverKuroi on Jan 15, 2018 19:25:45 GMT -5
Doctor: You've played a dangerous game, Michael.
Storm is on the seat of a doctor's office. A doctor is in front of him. He's an old man, wagging his finger. Despite his old age, he's passionate and about as wild as he can while keeping his professional demeanor.
Doctor: It was only a week when you were diagnosed with CTE. This is the same stuff that Alex Hernandez had when he killed. This is the same stuff that Chris Benoit had when he killed. These are the people in YOUR industry.
Storm: I don't play football.
Doctor: NOT the point I'm trying to make, Michael. The point here is after that, you've entered into a match and have caused yourself even more damage. You've moved the deadline even further. You're killing yourself.
Storm: Yes, I know.
Doctor: Why, Michael? Why are you doing this to yourself? You don't need the money. You've complained to me before about the stress onto your body. The stress on your mind. You're not even happy with what you do.
Fade. It's almost like it was a thought bubble. We're in the open roads of southeast Ohio. Michael Storm is sitting inside of his yellow Lamborghini Countach. He's cruising at a comfortable seventy-five miles per hour. He's not an idiot - he knows that there's a camera right next to him.
Storm: I've been thinking about this a lot, and I know the entire AWF-universe is wondering why I came back. More than that, I know the entire XHF-universe. They're curious. They want to know why I came back, and I want to dispel any sort of rumors that I did this all for show. The fact of the matter is that when I was in that hotel room outside of Times Square, I made one of the most difficult decisions of my life, and I've made it. The decision I made was that I had to return to the sport I once loved, but in order to do that, I had to kill myself first.
~Times Square~
Manhattan, New York
December 31st, 2017
11:59
Storm goes back to his phone. He still sees "Felix Ziko". Storm takes a deep breathe, not knowing what to do.
The ringtone is heard. It only rings for a moment before...
Felix Ziko: Storm! You're cutting it quite close. Have y-
Felix Ziko: -ou decided to change your mind?
Michael Storm stares at the phone. His lips tremble. Everything is just so surreal. His breath is unsteady. That's when...
He presses the button.
Michael Storm gets up from the bed and walks over to the window. He looks down at the people, celebrating, having fun. It's the new year, after all. It's the time for new beginnings. Resolutions about losing weight and spending more time with family flood the minds and hearts of the people below. With Storm, it's not quite the same. He opens the three-foot-tall window. The -5 degree weather hits him the same way it would hurt anyone else. He punches out the screen and steps outside. His feet are on the ledge outside. More specifically, his feet are struggling to stay on as he looks outside. Storm's right arm hooks to the inside of the building as he stands outside of the window. People are flooding the streets, even to the alleys of the side streets so they are right underneath him. With tears in his eyes, Storm makes himself known.
Storm: What the fuck am I supposed to do!? Do I live my life as some sort of depressed businessman worrying about numbers and documents, not giving a fuck about life or do I live far fewer years on this planet as a brain-dead freak, not having the fucking intellectual capacity to keep the drool in my mouth?! WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO!?
That gets the attention of the people underneath him. They all look up. Some people cheer, but most people's eyes grow big, their mouths hang down and others even scream, shouting the cliche. "Don't do it!" "You have so much to live for!"
Storm: I have nothing to live for.
That's when Storm unhooks his arms. He allows his center of gravity to shift forward and within a moment, Storm's feet left the ledge. He fell forward and a hundred feet that separated between him and the grown descended to dozens. Storm's pupils dilated before he forced himself to close his eyes. He turned around and he fell back first. He slammed toward the ground and...
People caught him. They slowly lowered him to the ground.
Person: What the hell is wrong with you? You could have died!
Storm slowly opens his eyes. Everything seemed so surreal. His fire was reignited. His passion was back.
Storm: I did die.
~Present Day~
Storm: I managed to keep myself from the looney bin by telling them that I was an adrenaline junkie just looking for a thrill. I was actually surprised how natural that lie sounded. As I was checking myself to make sure I didn't do any lasting damage, I kept thinking about what I said. Just an adrenaline junkie just looking for a thrill... I've been realized that I hadn't been lying. Well, not entirely. I'm not just some guy out there looking for a thrill. No, I was looking to awaken the dormant spirit deep inside of me. But sometimes, in order to awaken something, you must put something else to rest. Before you can bring life, you might have to kill. And so when I tell you that I died on that night, I'm telling you that Michael Storm died. The businessman, the entrepreneur, the guy who was died on the inside and didn't know how to live his life. I'm sure there's one question you're thinking. If Michael Storm died, who is the man right now in the driver's seat?
Storm cuts the wheel as he drifts toward the end of a sharp curve. Storm puts on sunglasses.
Storm: Who am I now? Well, it's quite simple. I'm the old Storm. I'm Michael Storm - The Prince of Pain. I'm the Hardcore Icon. I'm the guy who isn't afraid to tear his body up. And to all of you, including the 2017 Storm who ask me about what my doctor thought, I will give you a big ol' FUCK YOU.
Storm lifts his right arm to deliver a middle finger.
Storm: I have CTE, there's nothing I can do about that. I've been made pretty fucking damn well aware about what's going to happen to me about my current path, but if you're going to tell me that I should make myself a comfy bed and sit on some hot cocoa for the rest of my life while watching some daytime soaps, then I have another fucking hand with another fucking middle finger ready for you. Wrestling is my life. If you're going to tell me that I shouldn't wrestle another match for as long as I breathe air, then I'm going to tell you what. I'm dead already.
Storm changes gears. The engine revs as he drives faster.
Storm: None of you are ready for when I step into the XHF Arena on January 28th. None of you can handle the Storm as it comes destroying everything within those four corners and there's an important reason for that. The reason is that none of you know what I'm fucking capable of. None of you know what I'll do when it comes to a win. I'm not the Storm I once was. When 2017 ended, so did the old Storm - Storm lite. Right now, I'm feeling a little bit unpredictable. I'm feeling a little bit insane and if I can't predict what my next move is, there's no way that you will be able to. This is my first time against those such as Jackson Grace, James Raymond, Azumi Goto, Alexis and Damien Young, but it's my time to see old friends. I will see Price, Rob Arnold, and Hyperion.
MCD: And what about Goldbear?
Someone had to hold the camera. This time, it's Michael Clarke Duncan.
Storm: What the fuck about him? He's a man/bear hybrid. He's a freak of nature, and I'm not going to be afraid of something dumber than me. I am smarter, faster, and crazier than some sort of circus reject. I can't quite figure out how the hell this man is so popular with the fans and why his merchandising is so high, but I really don't care once I get past the surface. The fact of the matter is that there are three things that matter. Number One, he's an obstacle in my way. Number Two, I'm allowed to beat the shit out of him. Number Three, his loss is my gain. See, for someone with such a big following, there's nothing more monumental than knockdown anything else. Everything else. People might laugh at me now and assume I'm just all words and no action but if you were TOO BLIND TO SEE at Prestige 10, I've defeated six other men in my way. I didn't just get lucky, being one of three or four men in an entire promotion to choose from. Goldbear II? Hah, what a joke.
Storm reaches into his jacket breast pocket and pulls out a cigarettes. He lights it and takes a drag.
MCD: OH SHIT, YOU GOT WEED.
Storm: No, I don't. This is a cigarette and I'm taking it because I want to live life on my terms and I feel like taking a {Mongo Edit: Fuck Off}, as AXW would put it, I will. Speaking of which, I couldn't help but hear the buzz from the word of someone nominated to basically be the asshole of the XHF Network, Mr. Rob Arnold. It's been a while since I've heard that name, but when I did, I heard it well. The man used to be a former XHF Champion, you know. I mean... for a whole... two months...
During the awkward time, Storm took another puff of his cigarette.
Storm: ...Almost. But I do have to say, since he has come back and he has decided to acknowledge the threat that I am, he is probably one of the top three people I'm looking forward to going against. You see, he's been a big name at AXW. He's well known for being mischievous, sneaky and willing to betray anyone if he has the inkling that it could put him in a better position. He has no honor. He has no care in the world. He is... just someone that I really want to test my strengths against. You see, Mr. Arnold, you're exactly right. We've never wrestled against one another before. I mean, we've been coworkers for years upon years. I even remember passing by you in the hallways during events. I can't exactly remember if I have, but there's a possibility we've shaken hands and introduced ourselves to one another. The thing is, there's a reason that I can't quite remember so much about you. It's just that... you aren't really a memorable person.
Storm shrugs his shoulders.
Storm: See, you're suited for many other things. You prance around like you're a movie star, but you have that face that says that you're a perfect extra. You blend in well. You don't go off the beaten path and imprint your own footprints, but you go where everyone else goes and hopes that you can do something that gets you noticed. You're not a memorable person and you're certainly not a memorable champion. When I think of the former XHF Champions, I'm thinking of Reeshi. I'm thinking of M.G.K. I'm thinking of Mongo The Destroyer. Hell, I'm thinking of AJ Phoenix before your name or face comes into my focus. In fact, I think the most memorable thing you've ever done was when you won the United States Champion and wanted to return to your motherland or whatever the hell you were trying to do, and you turned it into the United Kingdom Championship. I remember the locker room was really causing a lot of buzz about that. But wait, something feel weird about that.
MCD: Shit, Storm. Your DVD is acting up again! That wasn't Rob Arnold, that was Snake!
Storm smiles as he acts like a lightbulb just lit above him.
Storm: You know, I think you're right, Mike! Rob Arnold, remember the next time you want to call me the 'almost guy', you were the 'never have been' guy. Sure, you've won the XHF Championship before. Now... what the hell have you done with it? What made your reign any different than anyone else did? Mongo The Destroyer made himself the corrupt leader. He awarded that championship to himself. He made himself the asshole, the kind of guy who you had to listen to because he didn't just hold the belt, he held your job. Reeshi was the muscle, the guy that made mothers have to soothe their children to sleep because he would give them nightmares. M.G.K. was that guy who was honestly a cocky asshole, but he could at least back his words. You... you were the guy who got lucky. You were pretty much the equivalent to the guy who found a scratch ticket on the street walking home from work, and ended up being a millionaire. You became King Midas, except everything you touched turned into crap and it was up to everyone after you to make the belt worth a damn.
Storm laughs to himself as he playfully elbows Michael Clarke Duncan. He takes an exit off the holiday.
Storm: Mike, you remember me when I was in the hardcore division, right?
MCD: Shit yeah, bro! You were da Icon!
Storm: I revolutionized that field, Mike! I revolutionized it! I did what others couldn't. I probably pissed Mongo off with the dry cleaning bill. Every night I stepped into the ring, I stained that canvas. Without fail, someone would bleed for this sport, for this industry. It was either my blood or my opponent's blood, but I would go in there and make some changes. I've won this belt more than once and I made people know I am who I am. There is a Storm coming. Make no mistake, Mr. Arnold.
MCD: Shit, are you going to respond to the words of Alexis Grace?
Storm: The feminazi? Not really. There's only one other person I want to talk about and that's the X*Crown Champion himself, Curtis Kanyon. When I said that none of you know how crazy I can be, how hardcore I can turn it up in the matches, there is only one exception and that is Curtis Kanyon. You see Curtis, we're no stranger to one another in the ring. We've gone through it and have taken the hardcore champion from one another. Hell, you're the only one in the ring who have known me at my hardcore and have beaten me, and as such, you're the only one in this match that I can actually respect. But I'm prepared for you, so when we step into the ring on Sunday the 28th, give me all that you got at, but know that at the end of the match, you will pay in blood for opposing me - but don't you worry because I will match that blood like a 401k. At the end of the match, there will be a crown, and it will be up on the head of the Prince.
Michael Storm pulls into a side street. He looks into the camera.
Storm: The Prince of Pain.
The camera doesn't fade out. Storm pauses for a moment.
Storm: Mike, we're here. Stay in the car.
Michael Storm pulls into a driveway. The house looks humble, but decent. Passable. He gets out of the car and knocks on the door. The camera switches on the other side of the door. It opens, facing Storm. He stares at the homeowner and grits his teeth.
Storm: I need your help.
Fade out.
Storm is on the seat of a doctor's office. A doctor is in front of him. He's an old man, wagging his finger. Despite his old age, he's passionate and about as wild as he can while keeping his professional demeanor.
Doctor: It was only a week when you were diagnosed with CTE. This is the same stuff that Alex Hernandez had when he killed. This is the same stuff that Chris Benoit had when he killed. These are the people in YOUR industry.
Storm: I don't play football.
Doctor: NOT the point I'm trying to make, Michael. The point here is after that, you've entered into a match and have caused yourself even more damage. You've moved the deadline even further. You're killing yourself.
Storm: Yes, I know.
Doctor: Why, Michael? Why are you doing this to yourself? You don't need the money. You've complained to me before about the stress onto your body. The stress on your mind. You're not even happy with what you do.
Fade. It's almost like it was a thought bubble. We're in the open roads of southeast Ohio. Michael Storm is sitting inside of his yellow Lamborghini Countach. He's cruising at a comfortable seventy-five miles per hour. He's not an idiot - he knows that there's a camera right next to him.
Storm: I've been thinking about this a lot, and I know the entire AWF-universe is wondering why I came back. More than that, I know the entire XHF-universe. They're curious. They want to know why I came back, and I want to dispel any sort of rumors that I did this all for show. The fact of the matter is that when I was in that hotel room outside of Times Square, I made one of the most difficult decisions of my life, and I've made it. The decision I made was that I had to return to the sport I once loved, but in order to do that, I had to kill myself first.
~Times Square~
Manhattan, New York
December 31st, 2017
11:59
...TEN!
...NINE!
...EIGHT!
...NINE!
...EIGHT!
Storm goes back to his phone. He still sees "Felix Ziko". Storm takes a deep breathe, not knowing what to do.
...SEVEN!
...SIX!
...FIVE
...FOUR!
...SIX!
...FIVE
...FOUR!
The ringtone is heard. It only rings for a moment before...
...THREE!
Felix Ziko: Storm! You're cutting it quite close. Have y-
...TWO!
Felix Ziko: -ou decided to change your mind?
...ONE!
Michael Storm stares at the phone. His lips tremble. Everything is just so surreal. His breath is unsteady. That's when...
He presses the button.
...HAPPY NEW YEAR!
The new year begins. The old Storm ends.
The new year begins. The old Storm ends.
Michael Storm gets up from the bed and walks over to the window. He looks down at the people, celebrating, having fun. It's the new year, after all. It's the time for new beginnings. Resolutions about losing weight and spending more time with family flood the minds and hearts of the people below. With Storm, it's not quite the same. He opens the three-foot-tall window. The -5 degree weather hits him the same way it would hurt anyone else. He punches out the screen and steps outside. His feet are on the ledge outside. More specifically, his feet are struggling to stay on as he looks outside. Storm's right arm hooks to the inside of the building as he stands outside of the window. People are flooding the streets, even to the alleys of the side streets so they are right underneath him. With tears in his eyes, Storm makes himself known.
Storm: What the fuck am I supposed to do!? Do I live my life as some sort of depressed businessman worrying about numbers and documents, not giving a fuck about life or do I live far fewer years on this planet as a brain-dead freak, not having the fucking intellectual capacity to keep the drool in my mouth?! WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO!?
That gets the attention of the people underneath him. They all look up. Some people cheer, but most people's eyes grow big, their mouths hang down and others even scream, shouting the cliche. "Don't do it!" "You have so much to live for!"
Storm: I have nothing to live for.
That's when Storm unhooks his arms. He allows his center of gravity to shift forward and within a moment, Storm's feet left the ledge. He fell forward and a hundred feet that separated between him and the grown descended to dozens. Storm's pupils dilated before he forced himself to close his eyes. He turned around and he fell back first. He slammed toward the ground and...
People caught him. They slowly lowered him to the ground.
Person: What the hell is wrong with you? You could have died!
Storm slowly opens his eyes. Everything seemed so surreal. His fire was reignited. His passion was back.
Storm: I did die.
~Present Day~
Storm: I managed to keep myself from the looney bin by telling them that I was an adrenaline junkie just looking for a thrill. I was actually surprised how natural that lie sounded. As I was checking myself to make sure I didn't do any lasting damage, I kept thinking about what I said. Just an adrenaline junkie just looking for a thrill... I've been realized that I hadn't been lying. Well, not entirely. I'm not just some guy out there looking for a thrill. No, I was looking to awaken the dormant spirit deep inside of me. But sometimes, in order to awaken something, you must put something else to rest. Before you can bring life, you might have to kill. And so when I tell you that I died on that night, I'm telling you that Michael Storm died. The businessman, the entrepreneur, the guy who was died on the inside and didn't know how to live his life. I'm sure there's one question you're thinking. If Michael Storm died, who is the man right now in the driver's seat?
Storm cuts the wheel as he drifts toward the end of a sharp curve. Storm puts on sunglasses.
Storm: Who am I now? Well, it's quite simple. I'm the old Storm. I'm Michael Storm - The Prince of Pain. I'm the Hardcore Icon. I'm the guy who isn't afraid to tear his body up. And to all of you, including the 2017 Storm who ask me about what my doctor thought, I will give you a big ol' FUCK YOU.
Storm lifts his right arm to deliver a middle finger.
Storm: I have CTE, there's nothing I can do about that. I've been made pretty fucking damn well aware about what's going to happen to me about my current path, but if you're going to tell me that I should make myself a comfy bed and sit on some hot cocoa for the rest of my life while watching some daytime soaps, then I have another fucking hand with another fucking middle finger ready for you. Wrestling is my life. If you're going to tell me that I shouldn't wrestle another match for as long as I breathe air, then I'm going to tell you what. I'm dead already.
Storm changes gears. The engine revs as he drives faster.
Storm: None of you are ready for when I step into the XHF Arena on January 28th. None of you can handle the Storm as it comes destroying everything within those four corners and there's an important reason for that. The reason is that none of you know what I'm fucking capable of. None of you know what I'll do when it comes to a win. I'm not the Storm I once was. When 2017 ended, so did the old Storm - Storm lite. Right now, I'm feeling a little bit unpredictable. I'm feeling a little bit insane and if I can't predict what my next move is, there's no way that you will be able to. This is my first time against those such as Jackson Grace, James Raymond, Azumi Goto, Alexis and Damien Young, but it's my time to see old friends. I will see Price, Rob Arnold, and Hyperion.
MCD: And what about Goldbear?
Someone had to hold the camera. This time, it's Michael Clarke Duncan.
Storm: What the fuck about him? He's a man/bear hybrid. He's a freak of nature, and I'm not going to be afraid of something dumber than me. I am smarter, faster, and crazier than some sort of circus reject. I can't quite figure out how the hell this man is so popular with the fans and why his merchandising is so high, but I really don't care once I get past the surface. The fact of the matter is that there are three things that matter. Number One, he's an obstacle in my way. Number Two, I'm allowed to beat the shit out of him. Number Three, his loss is my gain. See, for someone with such a big following, there's nothing more monumental than knockdown anything else. Everything else. People might laugh at me now and assume I'm just all words and no action but if you were TOO BLIND TO SEE at Prestige 10, I've defeated six other men in my way. I didn't just get lucky, being one of three or four men in an entire promotion to choose from. Goldbear II? Hah, what a joke.
Storm reaches into his jacket breast pocket and pulls out a cigarettes. He lights it and takes a drag.
MCD: OH SHIT, YOU GOT WEED.
Storm: No, I don't. This is a cigarette and I'm taking it because I want to live life on my terms and I feel like taking a {Mongo Edit: Fuck Off}, as AXW would put it, I will. Speaking of which, I couldn't help but hear the buzz from the word of someone nominated to basically be the asshole of the XHF Network, Mr. Rob Arnold. It's been a while since I've heard that name, but when I did, I heard it well. The man used to be a former XHF Champion, you know. I mean... for a whole... two months...
During the awkward time, Storm took another puff of his cigarette.
Storm: ...Almost. But I do have to say, since he has come back and he has decided to acknowledge the threat that I am, he is probably one of the top three people I'm looking forward to going against. You see, he's been a big name at AXW. He's well known for being mischievous, sneaky and willing to betray anyone if he has the inkling that it could put him in a better position. He has no honor. He has no care in the world. He is... just someone that I really want to test my strengths against. You see, Mr. Arnold, you're exactly right. We've never wrestled against one another before. I mean, we've been coworkers for years upon years. I even remember passing by you in the hallways during events. I can't exactly remember if I have, but there's a possibility we've shaken hands and introduced ourselves to one another. The thing is, there's a reason that I can't quite remember so much about you. It's just that... you aren't really a memorable person.
Storm shrugs his shoulders.
Storm: See, you're suited for many other things. You prance around like you're a movie star, but you have that face that says that you're a perfect extra. You blend in well. You don't go off the beaten path and imprint your own footprints, but you go where everyone else goes and hopes that you can do something that gets you noticed. You're not a memorable person and you're certainly not a memorable champion. When I think of the former XHF Champions, I'm thinking of Reeshi. I'm thinking of M.G.K. I'm thinking of Mongo The Destroyer. Hell, I'm thinking of AJ Phoenix before your name or face comes into my focus. In fact, I think the most memorable thing you've ever done was when you won the United States Champion and wanted to return to your motherland or whatever the hell you were trying to do, and you turned it into the United Kingdom Championship. I remember the locker room was really causing a lot of buzz about that. But wait, something feel weird about that.
MCD: Shit, Storm. Your DVD is acting up again! That wasn't Rob Arnold, that was Snake!
Storm smiles as he acts like a lightbulb just lit above him.
Storm: You know, I think you're right, Mike! Rob Arnold, remember the next time you want to call me the 'almost guy', you were the 'never have been' guy. Sure, you've won the XHF Championship before. Now... what the hell have you done with it? What made your reign any different than anyone else did? Mongo The Destroyer made himself the corrupt leader. He awarded that championship to himself. He made himself the asshole, the kind of guy who you had to listen to because he didn't just hold the belt, he held your job. Reeshi was the muscle, the guy that made mothers have to soothe their children to sleep because he would give them nightmares. M.G.K. was that guy who was honestly a cocky asshole, but he could at least back his words. You... you were the guy who got lucky. You were pretty much the equivalent to the guy who found a scratch ticket on the street walking home from work, and ended up being a millionaire. You became King Midas, except everything you touched turned into crap and it was up to everyone after you to make the belt worth a damn.
Storm laughs to himself as he playfully elbows Michael Clarke Duncan. He takes an exit off the holiday.
Storm: Mike, you remember me when I was in the hardcore division, right?
MCD: Shit yeah, bro! You were da Icon!
Storm: I revolutionized that field, Mike! I revolutionized it! I did what others couldn't. I probably pissed Mongo off with the dry cleaning bill. Every night I stepped into the ring, I stained that canvas. Without fail, someone would bleed for this sport, for this industry. It was either my blood or my opponent's blood, but I would go in there and make some changes. I've won this belt more than once and I made people know I am who I am. There is a Storm coming. Make no mistake, Mr. Arnold.
MCD: Shit, are you going to respond to the words of Alexis Grace?
Storm: The feminazi? Not really. There's only one other person I want to talk about and that's the X*Crown Champion himself, Curtis Kanyon. When I said that none of you know how crazy I can be, how hardcore I can turn it up in the matches, there is only one exception and that is Curtis Kanyon. You see Curtis, we're no stranger to one another in the ring. We've gone through it and have taken the hardcore champion from one another. Hell, you're the only one in the ring who have known me at my hardcore and have beaten me, and as such, you're the only one in this match that I can actually respect. But I'm prepared for you, so when we step into the ring on Sunday the 28th, give me all that you got at, but know that at the end of the match, you will pay in blood for opposing me - but don't you worry because I will match that blood like a 401k. At the end of the match, there will be a crown, and it will be up on the head of the Prince.
Michael Storm pulls into a side street. He looks into the camera.
Storm: The Prince of Pain.
The camera doesn't fade out. Storm pauses for a moment.
Storm: Mike, we're here. Stay in the car.
Michael Storm pulls into a driveway. The house looks humble, but decent. Passable. He gets out of the car and knocks on the door. The camera switches on the other side of the door. It opens, facing Storm. He stares at the homeowner and grits his teeth.
Storm: I need your help.
Fade out.
