Post by Deleted on Jun 11, 2006 15:50:24 GMT -5
The doors to the PCW Arena spring open, and in walks a fully-suited man, clicking the lock button on his '95 black Lexus as the doors shut behind him. He flips off the sunglasses deeply buried in his long black hair, and tosses them to the side. As he walks further, he removes the sportcoat and unbuttons the dress shirt to reveal a black, skin-tight fishnet shirt. He rips the khakis away from his sides to reveal a pair of faded blue jeans. He removes cloth from his shoes to reveal his black wrestling boots, shined and perfect, with a small sentence written in lime green on the sides...
"THE TRUTH IS A VIRUS"
Blake Smith, Al Laiman's longtime friend and employee, approaches him, and looks at his watch.
BLAKE: You told me to be here.
LAIMAN: And I'm definitely glad you decided to show up.
BLAKE: You look... different.
Laiman turns and looks in a mirror, staring into it for a long time.
LAIMAN: But all too familiar.
BLAKE: I assume you have something important you need to say?
LAIMAN: Definitely the only reason I'd call upon you, my friend.
Blake reaches for his microphone as the tech crew sets up. Laiman crosses his arms as Blake turns on the mic and the lights shine.
BLAKE: Hello ladies and gentlemen of Pure Class Wrestling. I'm here, but not with my usual interviewing client, whom you know as your world champion. I am, however, here with wrestling legend Al Laiman, multiple-time world champion, who apparently has something he needs to say to PCW.
LAIMAN: That would be quite accurate, my friend.
BLAKE: Well Al, simple question... What is it you have to say?
LAIMAN: Ever since I've come to Pure Class Wrestling, my intentions have been anything but selfish. I've got a long line of memorable accomplishments in this business, and when Seth Sinn and Lantlas found a new place of business here in PCW, I took a different approach than I had for the last ten years. I brought a few of my guys over, and instead of trying to further my own career, I tried to further theirs. I quickly learned you couldn't rely on people you've known a long time in new surroundings, as Geno had clearly lost the ability to be the man I knew he was capable of being. Then, of course, I tried to scout out some new talent in PCW, possibly use the knowledge and skill I have in this business to further someone else's career, you know... give them the chances that they might not get for years to come otherwise... And once again, I'm let down.
BLAKE: So what are you saying?
LAIMAN: I'm saying that I'm sorry I put my own career on hold for people who'd never come through for me. And I'm definitely sick of taking shit for being a manager when I could thoroughly destroy those saying such things. Non Compos Mentis, how did it feel to get beat by one of my former employees.... AGAIN? Or did you forget... For all the crap you can talk about HHW, you haven't had good luck against my boys. When you really sit down and look at it, those who were employed by me for a long time are almost running this place. Lantlas is the world champion, Seth has made quite an impact himself, and Anthony Douglas is soon to beat the everloving shit out of you to become the North American champion. But, one week before this inevitable defeat, I have something else for you... One more HHW superstar you can spit at, only to be decimated.
BLAKE: And who would that be, might I ask?
LAIMAN: ME! That's right, NCM... I'm calling you out. I'm sick of hearing you speak of me as if you even belonged in the same ring as I do. You wanna know why I haven't wrestled yet here in PCW? You really wanna know? I'll tell you... Because I don't HAVE TO! As I said, I came here to give a little bit back to the business that made me who I am, and instead I end up taking shit from nimrods like you who couldn't kick out of one of my transitional moves if I didn't even hook the leg on the pin. But enough is enough, and there's only so much I can let you say before making you reap what you sow. Trauma [49], the week before Return to Glory, Non Compos Mentis vs. Al Laiman! Think I've lost my talent and my career? Kid, I'm only 26-years-old, and I've been in this business for ten years. I've lost a grand total of twenty-one matches in those ten years, and all of them were certainly to more qualified and talented individuals than yourself. So why don't you come show me how much of my career I've lost? Show me that my talent is gone. Show me that I'm just trying to cling to some thread of life that's obviously invisible to me. I'm a revered legend, a multiple-time world champion, and you're nothing more than some cling-on midcarder who couldn't lick the dirt off my boots. You keep that dream alive of somehow miraculously ending up in the world title division, but it appears to me that my former employee and your current world champion just OWNED YOU last week! Savour that, because it's nothing compared to the lesson I'm going to teach you... The truth is a virus, NCM, and it's going to be a long, painful explanation of why your decisions will cost you more than you could ever realize. So be it, it's a living.
Laiman walks away from the microphone, and Blake Smith stands back in the picture.
BLAKE: You've heard it, Al Laiman has challenged Non Compos Mentis to a match next week at Trauma.
The scene closes.