Post by rphoenix on May 18, 2006 5:00:44 GMT -5
Trauma 46 has befallen. Your former World Champion was overpowered. He gave a valiant effort, yet in the end he could not escape his fate. And nevertheless the trial yet continues.
Currently my course here in the PCW has led me to the opportunity to harvest the Genesis Championship. Should I be honored? Even though despite the reality that I’m opening the Pay-Per-View and yet once more facing more incompetent PCW fighters? Legitimately I should be headlining the Pay-Per-View, yet I’m stuck with the likes of Mark Brown, Justin Stormm, and The Byrd. This is exceedingly insulting.
--------------------------------------
Gleaming high above was the sun transcending above the white billowy clouds. The sky saturated in a light blue. But in the face of the beautiful sky looking out from the office window in Sherman Oaks, you can see the broad pall of smog suspended in the horizon above San Fernando valley. That’s just a typical California view.
I’m in my agent’s office. Standing there dressed in a black t-shirt, black pants, and black biker boots. I’m stare out his window killing some time. I’m waiting for him. I despise waiting but he called me to come in, so perhaps it’s important. Most likely regarding PCW I’m sure. He’s arguably by far the worst agent I’ve so far hired. My previous agent I could not get in contact with. I’ve been gone for so long though so with that taken into consideration I’m left with this idiot.
I look around the office, what’s funny is this is actually my first time I’ve been here. I generally meet my agent for lunch or dinner at some kind of fancy restaurant. I frequent a few which gives me the ability to arrange such meetings. I never really socialize much beyond my sanctuary, but I do not handle my business matters at home.
His computer monitor on his desk displays a fish screensaver. I told you he was an idiot. I analyze his desk. It’s an executive style desk with a dark oak finish. He has no pictures of family displayed. Maybe he doesn’t have the time, a workaholic, which is baffling to me as in my case what exactly has he done for me, nothing? I open my water bottle and sip on it as I wait for my agent. Abruptly the door swings open and in walks a man dress in a black Armani business suit, with a blue undershirt, and carrying a legal brief case, made of Ellington leather, in his right hand.
“Hello Rodney” the man says politely as he extends his hand. I look at his polite gesture and just take a swig from my water bottle instead. He should know by now I don’t do handshakes, you idiot.
“We have some affairs to discuss” the man expresses as he withdraws his hand. Yes we do have some affairs to discuss.
“What’s on your mind Stan?” I ask as I sit in his leather ARNO chair. Stan just stands there dumbfounded as he doubtlessly wanted to sit in his own chair. Oh well like I care. There’s a moment of silence as Stan focuses on me, trying to get a read on me but my blue hair is masking my face screening my current mood. Then he sets his briefcase on the desk and opens it up.
“You know you’re sitting in my chair.” Stan laughs.
“Your point?” I think Stan has mistaken me for someone who cares.
“Can I have my seat back?” Stan smiles asking me respectfully.
“No” I plainly tell him while sitting comfortably in his chair. The chair is designed using perforated leather upholstery panels, one in the seat and one in the back. Thus allowing air normally trapped in the cushions to escape providing an incredibly soft, yet supportive feeling. Sorry Stan but I’m comfortable.
“Please?” Stan tries one more time. His smile quickly vanishes.
“Let me think about it. No.” I respond bitterly. “Why did you bring me here?”
“I needed to confer with you over some matters regarding the PCW.” Stan’s best attempt to answering my question. He finally takes a seat in a chair in front of his desk. However, I came here on my own agenda.
“Stan, you have failed me my friend.” I state this then inhale another gulp of my bottled water. Stan hesitates. He stops going through some papers in his briefcase when he hears me.
“What?” Stan maybe didn’t hear me, regardless I continue on.
“You see Stan before I came here today I went to my mailbox. You know what I found?” I ask Stan. Stan’s face is beleaguered with interest.
“What did you find?” Stan replies.
“Nothing” I assert. Stan’s face confirms to me that he’s lost in where I’m going with this. “Nothing” I again reiterate. Stan pauses reflecting on what I just said and seems bewildered. I carry on.
“It’s been two weeks Stan. I have yet to receive my paycheck here in the PCW. Didn’t you settle some sort of salary with the PCW in my contract?” This question has been bothering me for some time now and eagerly await an answer.
“You mean you don’t fight for free?” Stan tries to humor me, but it doesn’t work. My eyes just penetrate into his, which makes Stan uneasy.
“Okay. Yes I did, I’m sure there is a rational explanation. Don’t worry I’ll make a few phone calls and get that settled.” Stan promises me.
I swing my chair around 180-degrees, with my back to Stan, I now gaze out the office window admiring the scenery. This water tastes of high-quality purified H2O. I draw in another refreshing mouthful of water from my bottle. Stan resumes shuffling through his paperwork. I then break the silence yet again.
“You know I made a few phone calls myself Stan.” I notify Stan. “You know how much the salary of our current PCW World Champion, Ace Anderson, is? $48,000 dollars a year.”
“Interesting” Like Stan really cares. “Is that how much you want?” Stan questions me. I ponder his question but something urges me to express myself.
“You mean to tell me you brought me to a company that couldn’t afford to give me a six figure deal? I’m an enormous superstar, a wrestling prodigy, what the hell were you thinking?” I look intensely at Stan.
“On the contrary, I believe your getting ahead of yourself. You see the truth of the matter is you have been away from wrestling from some time. Your name, your reputation, has faded somewhat. You’re no longer in the spotlight. You have to prove once again you are what you say you are. The best. In order to do that I’ve brought you here to the PCW. And now I have reached a deal with the PCW to grant you a title shot.” Stan explains to me. The words title shot then open my eyes a little bit.
“World title shot?” I fervently ask. Now I rotate my chair 180-degress again facing Stan.
“Well no...” Stan begins to once again shoot down my hopes. “It’s an opportunity to become the first ever PCW Genesis Champion” An effort to make me happy. He’s trying to sell an idea to me, me being the first ever Genesis Champion.
“What the hell is a Genesis Championship?” I demand to know how I go from World class athlete to some idiot challenging some stupid title.
“It’s a new innovative title that PCW has established. It encompasses it’s own set of rules, the rules you fought under in your previous match.” Stan makes clear to me. You know, I pretty much was already aware what the title was, I just wanted Stan to explain it to me because it pisses me off further more.
“Are you brainless? What good would a Genesis Championship do me?” I retort. Stan grabs a folder from his briefcase. He opens it up and enlightens me about my upcoming match.
“First off Mr. Phoenix, this is an opportunity to show to the PCW what kind of athlete you are by becoming their very first Genesis Champion. After you win, then proceed to take on the World if you want to. Keep the Genesis title, throw it away or give it to your bird, I don’t care. A World title shot will in time come to you, I just have to work the system a little, and you have to keep on winning? Understand?” Stan puts across to me. See when he puts it like that, do I have any other option? I mean the match is already booked, set in stone, and it shall commence. My words will not amend anything. I have to accept it, after all, I still merit a title opportunity.
“Whatever.” I look down into the folder Stan places on the deck. Curiously I open the folder. “What’s this?” I question to know what I’m looking at.
“This is the summary of your next opponents. I did the research for you as I’m your agent and that’s what you pay me to do.” Stan makes it clear to me. Except one thing.
“I don’t pay you until I get paid, understand?” I articulate to Stan.
“I said I’ll handle that” Stan reassures me. With that I gulp some more water from my bottle.
I look over the contents of the folder. Something troubles me.
“I’m in the opening match of the Pay-Per-View?” This sucks. “Do you know what kind of talent that is normally is placed there? Adequate fighters, at best.” Which characterizes my next opponents entirely.
“So there should be no reason for you not to win right?” Stan sarcastically tells me.
I don’t answer. He and I both already know the answer to that question. It goes without questioning, of course I’m going to prevail, as my next challengers are sub-par fighters. But to hold me down to their level? This is beyond insulting. This calls for an additional swig of my water. My frame of mind went from bad to worse.
“Stan do you realize my opponents do not know the meaning of the word, win?” I ask Stan this as I read over the contents inside the folder. Each page is like a summary of one fighter and what they’ve accomplished in the preceding four matches.
“Indeed. I did the research remember?” Stan amuses himself. “I’ll break it down for you. PCW has pitted you against The Byrd, Justin Stormm, and Mark Brown.”
“Here’s what I don’t get, how do they all warrant a title shot?” I consider this thought for a moment. “Mark Brown I defeated in my very first match here in the PCW.”
“He is coming off a victory.” Stan interjects.
“So by gaining a victory over 2 Guys that justifies a title shot?” I ask. Stan doesn’t answer, he just shrugs his shoulders.
“Then there’s The Byrd.” Stan utters. And before I respond I flip through the pages and look at the rundown of The Byrd that my agent so conveniently put together. The past month has not been to kind to The Byrd. I take another swig of my bottled water.
“Undeniably pathetic. Trauma 43 he was obliterated by Unholy Alliance, Trauma 44 he suffered defeat in a Triple Threat Genesis Match to Kyle Time, Trauma 45 he fell short to the North American Champion Non Compos Mentis, Trauma 46 he yet again was defeated by none other than Non Compos Mentis in an his second opportunity to seize the North American Championship Match. What’s difficult to understand is how a man like Byrd gets three consecutive title opportunities?” Third which is this upcoming contest for the Genesis title. I simply don’t understand.
“Must be his charm” Stan butts in. He amused himself with that comment. “And finally there’s Justin “Stormm” Michaels. He’s so creative he has two M’s in Stormm.”
“That’s nice.” I blatantly tell Stan as he laughs to himself. Stan just shrugs his shoulders. I turn over a few more pages and then see his page Stan put together.
“Well good for you Justin, you have won... one match. You’ve been absent for awhile and PCW deemed you worthy of a title opportunity” Did I mention that I simply don’t understand? I don’t understand PCW and their booking decisions, where do they get their inspiration to do such stupid things? Stan checks his watch and becomes agitated.
“Well, time’s a ticking, and my time is your money...” Stan begins to say.
“Except when you call me.” I interrupt as I finish my water bottle.
“Oh yea, right, well your hands seemed to be full now, and I have to tend to other matters now.” Stan and I stand up simultaneously.
“I’ll call you later.” Stan extends his hand. I guess you shake hands to conclude business meetings, yes?
“Fine.” I put my empty water bottle in his hand instead, what an idiot. I leave his office room. I’m now in the corridor between several office rooms. Then something distracts me. My phone is vibrating. I clutch my phone to see who’s calling me. In the bright colored LCD screen the name Serenity is displayed. I hastily answer.
“Hello sweetheart. Yes I’ll see you tonight. Sure thing, Love you too, Bye.” With that I hang up with a smile from ear to ear.
Currently my course here in the PCW has led me to the opportunity to harvest the Genesis Championship. Should I be honored? Even though despite the reality that I’m opening the Pay-Per-View and yet once more facing more incompetent PCW fighters? Legitimately I should be headlining the Pay-Per-View, yet I’m stuck with the likes of Mark Brown, Justin Stormm, and The Byrd. This is exceedingly insulting.
--------------------------------------
Gleaming high above was the sun transcending above the white billowy clouds. The sky saturated in a light blue. But in the face of the beautiful sky looking out from the office window in Sherman Oaks, you can see the broad pall of smog suspended in the horizon above San Fernando valley. That’s just a typical California view.
I’m in my agent’s office. Standing there dressed in a black t-shirt, black pants, and black biker boots. I’m stare out his window killing some time. I’m waiting for him. I despise waiting but he called me to come in, so perhaps it’s important. Most likely regarding PCW I’m sure. He’s arguably by far the worst agent I’ve so far hired. My previous agent I could not get in contact with. I’ve been gone for so long though so with that taken into consideration I’m left with this idiot.
I look around the office, what’s funny is this is actually my first time I’ve been here. I generally meet my agent for lunch or dinner at some kind of fancy restaurant. I frequent a few which gives me the ability to arrange such meetings. I never really socialize much beyond my sanctuary, but I do not handle my business matters at home.
His computer monitor on his desk displays a fish screensaver. I told you he was an idiot. I analyze his desk. It’s an executive style desk with a dark oak finish. He has no pictures of family displayed. Maybe he doesn’t have the time, a workaholic, which is baffling to me as in my case what exactly has he done for me, nothing? I open my water bottle and sip on it as I wait for my agent. Abruptly the door swings open and in walks a man dress in a black Armani business suit, with a blue undershirt, and carrying a legal brief case, made of Ellington leather, in his right hand.
“Hello Rodney” the man says politely as he extends his hand. I look at his polite gesture and just take a swig from my water bottle instead. He should know by now I don’t do handshakes, you idiot.
“We have some affairs to discuss” the man expresses as he withdraws his hand. Yes we do have some affairs to discuss.
“What’s on your mind Stan?” I ask as I sit in his leather ARNO chair. Stan just stands there dumbfounded as he doubtlessly wanted to sit in his own chair. Oh well like I care. There’s a moment of silence as Stan focuses on me, trying to get a read on me but my blue hair is masking my face screening my current mood. Then he sets his briefcase on the desk and opens it up.
“You know you’re sitting in my chair.” Stan laughs.
“Your point?” I think Stan has mistaken me for someone who cares.
“Can I have my seat back?” Stan smiles asking me respectfully.
“No” I plainly tell him while sitting comfortably in his chair. The chair is designed using perforated leather upholstery panels, one in the seat and one in the back. Thus allowing air normally trapped in the cushions to escape providing an incredibly soft, yet supportive feeling. Sorry Stan but I’m comfortable.
“Please?” Stan tries one more time. His smile quickly vanishes.
“Let me think about it. No.” I respond bitterly. “Why did you bring me here?”
“I needed to confer with you over some matters regarding the PCW.” Stan’s best attempt to answering my question. He finally takes a seat in a chair in front of his desk. However, I came here on my own agenda.
“Stan, you have failed me my friend.” I state this then inhale another gulp of my bottled water. Stan hesitates. He stops going through some papers in his briefcase when he hears me.
“What?” Stan maybe didn’t hear me, regardless I continue on.
“You see Stan before I came here today I went to my mailbox. You know what I found?” I ask Stan. Stan’s face is beleaguered with interest.
“What did you find?” Stan replies.
“Nothing” I assert. Stan’s face confirms to me that he’s lost in where I’m going with this. “Nothing” I again reiterate. Stan pauses reflecting on what I just said and seems bewildered. I carry on.
“It’s been two weeks Stan. I have yet to receive my paycheck here in the PCW. Didn’t you settle some sort of salary with the PCW in my contract?” This question has been bothering me for some time now and eagerly await an answer.
“You mean you don’t fight for free?” Stan tries to humor me, but it doesn’t work. My eyes just penetrate into his, which makes Stan uneasy.
“Okay. Yes I did, I’m sure there is a rational explanation. Don’t worry I’ll make a few phone calls and get that settled.” Stan promises me.
I swing my chair around 180-degrees, with my back to Stan, I now gaze out the office window admiring the scenery. This water tastes of high-quality purified H2O. I draw in another refreshing mouthful of water from my bottle. Stan resumes shuffling through his paperwork. I then break the silence yet again.
“You know I made a few phone calls myself Stan.” I notify Stan. “You know how much the salary of our current PCW World Champion, Ace Anderson, is? $48,000 dollars a year.”
“Interesting” Like Stan really cares. “Is that how much you want?” Stan questions me. I ponder his question but something urges me to express myself.
“You mean to tell me you brought me to a company that couldn’t afford to give me a six figure deal? I’m an enormous superstar, a wrestling prodigy, what the hell were you thinking?” I look intensely at Stan.
“On the contrary, I believe your getting ahead of yourself. You see the truth of the matter is you have been away from wrestling from some time. Your name, your reputation, has faded somewhat. You’re no longer in the spotlight. You have to prove once again you are what you say you are. The best. In order to do that I’ve brought you here to the PCW. And now I have reached a deal with the PCW to grant you a title shot.” Stan explains to me. The words title shot then open my eyes a little bit.
“World title shot?” I fervently ask. Now I rotate my chair 180-degress again facing Stan.
“Well no...” Stan begins to once again shoot down my hopes. “It’s an opportunity to become the first ever PCW Genesis Champion” An effort to make me happy. He’s trying to sell an idea to me, me being the first ever Genesis Champion.
“What the hell is a Genesis Championship?” I demand to know how I go from World class athlete to some idiot challenging some stupid title.
“It’s a new innovative title that PCW has established. It encompasses it’s own set of rules, the rules you fought under in your previous match.” Stan makes clear to me. You know, I pretty much was already aware what the title was, I just wanted Stan to explain it to me because it pisses me off further more.
“Are you brainless? What good would a Genesis Championship do me?” I retort. Stan grabs a folder from his briefcase. He opens it up and enlightens me about my upcoming match.
“First off Mr. Phoenix, this is an opportunity to show to the PCW what kind of athlete you are by becoming their very first Genesis Champion. After you win, then proceed to take on the World if you want to. Keep the Genesis title, throw it away or give it to your bird, I don’t care. A World title shot will in time come to you, I just have to work the system a little, and you have to keep on winning? Understand?” Stan puts across to me. See when he puts it like that, do I have any other option? I mean the match is already booked, set in stone, and it shall commence. My words will not amend anything. I have to accept it, after all, I still merit a title opportunity.
“Whatever.” I look down into the folder Stan places on the deck. Curiously I open the folder. “What’s this?” I question to know what I’m looking at.
“This is the summary of your next opponents. I did the research for you as I’m your agent and that’s what you pay me to do.” Stan makes it clear to me. Except one thing.
“I don’t pay you until I get paid, understand?” I articulate to Stan.
“I said I’ll handle that” Stan reassures me. With that I gulp some more water from my bottle.
I look over the contents of the folder. Something troubles me.
“I’m in the opening match of the Pay-Per-View?” This sucks. “Do you know what kind of talent that is normally is placed there? Adequate fighters, at best.” Which characterizes my next opponents entirely.
“So there should be no reason for you not to win right?” Stan sarcastically tells me.
I don’t answer. He and I both already know the answer to that question. It goes without questioning, of course I’m going to prevail, as my next challengers are sub-par fighters. But to hold me down to their level? This is beyond insulting. This calls for an additional swig of my water. My frame of mind went from bad to worse.
“Stan do you realize my opponents do not know the meaning of the word, win?” I ask Stan this as I read over the contents inside the folder. Each page is like a summary of one fighter and what they’ve accomplished in the preceding four matches.
“Indeed. I did the research remember?” Stan amuses himself. “I’ll break it down for you. PCW has pitted you against The Byrd, Justin Stormm, and Mark Brown.”
“Here’s what I don’t get, how do they all warrant a title shot?” I consider this thought for a moment. “Mark Brown I defeated in my very first match here in the PCW.”
“He is coming off a victory.” Stan interjects.
“So by gaining a victory over 2 Guys that justifies a title shot?” I ask. Stan doesn’t answer, he just shrugs his shoulders.
“Then there’s The Byrd.” Stan utters. And before I respond I flip through the pages and look at the rundown of The Byrd that my agent so conveniently put together. The past month has not been to kind to The Byrd. I take another swig of my bottled water.
“Undeniably pathetic. Trauma 43 he was obliterated by Unholy Alliance, Trauma 44 he suffered defeat in a Triple Threat Genesis Match to Kyle Time, Trauma 45 he fell short to the North American Champion Non Compos Mentis, Trauma 46 he yet again was defeated by none other than Non Compos Mentis in an his second opportunity to seize the North American Championship Match. What’s difficult to understand is how a man like Byrd gets three consecutive title opportunities?” Third which is this upcoming contest for the Genesis title. I simply don’t understand.
“Must be his charm” Stan butts in. He amused himself with that comment. “And finally there’s Justin “Stormm” Michaels. He’s so creative he has two M’s in Stormm.”
“That’s nice.” I blatantly tell Stan as he laughs to himself. Stan just shrugs his shoulders. I turn over a few more pages and then see his page Stan put together.
“Well good for you Justin, you have won... one match. You’ve been absent for awhile and PCW deemed you worthy of a title opportunity” Did I mention that I simply don’t understand? I don’t understand PCW and their booking decisions, where do they get their inspiration to do such stupid things? Stan checks his watch and becomes agitated.
“Well, time’s a ticking, and my time is your money...” Stan begins to say.
“Except when you call me.” I interrupt as I finish my water bottle.
“Oh yea, right, well your hands seemed to be full now, and I have to tend to other matters now.” Stan and I stand up simultaneously.
“I’ll call you later.” Stan extends his hand. I guess you shake hands to conclude business meetings, yes?
“Fine.” I put my empty water bottle in his hand instead, what an idiot. I leave his office room. I’m now in the corridor between several office rooms. Then something distracts me. My phone is vibrating. I clutch my phone to see who’s calling me. In the bright colored LCD screen the name Serenity is displayed. I hastily answer.
“Hello sweetheart. Yes I’ll see you tonight. Sure thing, Love you too, Bye.” With that I hang up with a smile from ear to ear.