The Demon Speaks: Wheel Of Misfortune-The Final Word.
Apr 28, 2023 22:59:27 GMT -5
The Nickleman likes this
Post by synn on Apr 28, 2023 22:59:27 GMT -5
It was overcast in Burbank.
Tamika Strader had sent Jones and Harold to the bowles of Burbank Studios, looking for their OCW champion. They were given strict instructions to get a promo from me, any promo, no matter how short, long, weird or genius. The champ had been radio silent since winning the title at Piledriver, and for ratings purposes the new majority owner needed SOMETHING.
The two men were scared shitless of the new champion. Ronald, being relatively new on the job and a former janitor, was given the keys to unlock the janitors closet downstairs. Tamika had gotten word from Cara that that is where SYNN was going to be, after the newly crowned play-by-play announcer noticed a trail of blood leading into the closet from under the door.
The two men creeped around, trying to be as stealthy as possible, as to not alert the demon of their presence. Tamika warned them that she may not want to talk to anyone, let alone them, and if she knew they were coming before they got there not only would she most likely not be getting her that coveted promo but would also be collecting their unemployment checks.
The janitor's closet was just around the corner, and already things were getting weird. Signs on the wall were now hung upside down, the fire extinguisher boxes all open (but as if pried, not smashed, but weirdly no alarm had gone off?) and there were mannequins lining the walls wearing mob heads as fashionable wigs.
“I don’t like this” Jones said.
“Shit I don’t like this neither, but boss lady says we gotta be the ones to do it.”
They get to the janitor's closet. Cara was right about the blood. A red strip sprung out from the puddle and led under the door. Windchimes sat outside the door….the string atop them nailed in.
“Should—--should we knock?” Jones asked.
“Hell no!” Ronald shot back, extending out a shaky hand towards the keyhole.
“Where is blondie?” A voice came from behind the door, ever so slightly muffled.
The two men jumped.
After a few seconds, the voice repeated. “Where is blondie….I want blondie.”
“How the hell did she know we were here?!”
“Cuz you made too much noise, ya idiot!”
There was a loud crash inside the closet. The men jumped again.
“I think she is talkin’ bout Who’re, Jones.”
“She’s upstairs getting ready on the set, champ! She is doubling as Vanna White tonight!”
There was a soft hiss from behind the door.
“Attwood?”
“She is working the red carpet outside, doing interviews and—-”
The door flung open. The closet was completely disheveled, with tools everywhere. Open canisters of bleach sat on every shelf, and it smelled as though the entire closet was covered in it.
“Do you gentlemen think Clorox is flammable?”
They looked at each other, then back at SYNN. She had a box of matches in her hand.
“JESUS CHRIST WOMAN! You trying to burn the entire building down?!”
She shrugs.
“Maybe?”
“Okay well…..we found ya. We’ll tell Tamika, have a great evenin–”
Ronald grabs Jones by the arm.
“Boss lady says to get an promo. She’s here now, so, lets get a promo.”
SYNN takes a match out and sparks it against the side. The two men back up. The demon smiles as she blows it out.
“Next time, send Blondie.”
The two men nodded.
Just when it seemed like they weren’t going to get their promo, SYNN spoke.
“Sometimes a loss tells a better story than a win. Remember when I said that? It’s true. If I would have won the Craze Title back then, would this story be as sweet? The underdog of underdogs, the newcomer, the OCW fan-turned-wrestler who has tipped this company on its ear. Who woulda thunk it? Here we are. An era of fear. An era of torment. An era of SYNN. Some people are rooting for me, some people aren’t. Some people think I’m a paper champion, some people think I am the face of the franchise. We are all entitled to our own opinions, no?
When you have fans, you have enemies. Some of them will be blatant about it–you will know. Some will move in silence, and turn out to be the only ones you’d never suspect. The ones you trusted even. Nobody wants to see you rise, if it means they fall. There can only be one apex predator, but everyone thinks being an apex predator is easy. Top of the food chain, nothing else that can take them down within their own kingdom, right?
How about a bullet ripping apart your cranium and exploding in your cerebral cortex?
Chances are, you’d never even see it coming. Not if the hunter is good enough. You’d be dead before you heard the sound, before you had a chance to even process the situation. It’s harder, believe it or not, to be a predator than it is to be prey. So much more pressure to be precise, to make the right choice. To be prey, all you have to do is be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Being a predator takes skill, patience, practice and precision. You have to want it more than those around you, and you have to be willing to take it away from them.
My opponent at the paper view is a mystery. That might irritate some people. To be, it's intriguing! What is ol’ T. Shrades cookin’ up? Is there another apex predator on this roster right now? Hell, I’ve done her a favor by cleaning this place up a little.
Drain the swamp, if you will.
I came in with that predator mentality because if I didn’t, well let's face it, I’d be the prey. This roster is small, but the talent here is among the best in the world. I came in here and immediately was in the ring with the likes of Dylan Thomas, Charlie Nickels, Robbie Bourbon, Harmon Egan, The Standard, you name it. Where are they all now? Dylan is MIA, Robbie is gone, Egan took his ball and went home, Standard is back on the unemployment line. Harmon Egan left, he claims, because of differences in viewpoints from those in management—so he claims.
The real reason Harmon Egan left?
He. Couldn’t. Beat. Me.
Robbie Bourbon, Dylan Thomas, The Standard, they couldn’t beat me.
Charlie Nickels left to go back to his underwhelming career in XWF and now wants to come crawling back–he smells blood in the water—why? Because he is the only one on that list who HAS. I’ll give him credit for that. It was my first real match here. He tried to stop me before I got started, he wanted to take advantage of the new blood. He is a sniveling snake who undercuts anyone in his path. A predator? No. Charlie Nickels is a scavenger. He wants to come back? I welcome him back……I welcome him to join his buddies in the scrap pile.
I was brought here and given a goal to work towards. Did I think it was to be the World Champion after 5 months? No. It was to clean the toxic sludge known as B.O.B out of the OCW engine, and I’ve done that. He wants to be a lone minnow in a shark pond, so be it, but I think Charlie boy has proven time and time again that he can’t get it done on his own.
When I first got here, nobody wanted me here. I had to scratch and claw and bite my way through, and here I stand.
The apex predator.
This girl in the body I inhabit, she’s been prey her entire life. Bullied, abused, taken advantage of, given the runaround. Scared. She didn’t know how to use all that fear inside her body. She didn’t know how to embrace being different. She created me, and the silly girl, she had no idea what she was doing. I’ve been called a demon by some…….
You’re goddamn right.
But I’m an honest one. I pull no punches. I am here to represent the only company I’ve ever watched, and the only place that gave me a chance.
They gave me a chance to be the predator that Juniper has always been afraid to be, and to take this company to a level never before seen. It’s a whirlwind, surely, but even a tornado can’t stop me.
I’ve made new friends, new enemies, and a new life. I’ve become the hunter because even though I hold this title, I am still hungry.
Can you hear this tummy rumbling?
I stand here in front of you all as your apex predator, and welcome anyone to my kingdom who wants to knock me off my pedestal.”
She curls her lip, sticking her tongue through her teeth. She makes a hiss sound, breathing in deep as her eyes roll. Almost as if in a trance, she looks back at the camera with dark black pupils, wide as quarters.
“Good luck.”
The demon slams the door. The chimes jingle as the smack against it. A slight breeze causes the trees to rustle in Burbank. Crows caws break the eerie silence. Inside?! Crows cawed INSIDE?
Shadows.
The two men ran away from the closet as quickly as they good, their duties fulfilled.
Tamika Strader had sent Jones and Harold to the bowles of Burbank Studios, looking for their OCW champion. They were given strict instructions to get a promo from me, any promo, no matter how short, long, weird or genius. The champ had been radio silent since winning the title at Piledriver, and for ratings purposes the new majority owner needed SOMETHING.
The two men were scared shitless of the new champion. Ronald, being relatively new on the job and a former janitor, was given the keys to unlock the janitors closet downstairs. Tamika had gotten word from Cara that that is where SYNN was going to be, after the newly crowned play-by-play announcer noticed a trail of blood leading into the closet from under the door.
The two men creeped around, trying to be as stealthy as possible, as to not alert the demon of their presence. Tamika warned them that she may not want to talk to anyone, let alone them, and if she knew they were coming before they got there not only would she most likely not be getting her that coveted promo but would also be collecting their unemployment checks.
The janitor's closet was just around the corner, and already things were getting weird. Signs on the wall were now hung upside down, the fire extinguisher boxes all open (but as if pried, not smashed, but weirdly no alarm had gone off?) and there were mannequins lining the walls wearing mob heads as fashionable wigs.
“I don’t like this” Jones said.
“Shit I don’t like this neither, but boss lady says we gotta be the ones to do it.”
They get to the janitor's closet. Cara was right about the blood. A red strip sprung out from the puddle and led under the door. Windchimes sat outside the door….the string atop them nailed in.
“Should—--should we knock?” Jones asked.
“Hell no!” Ronald shot back, extending out a shaky hand towards the keyhole.
“Where is blondie?” A voice came from behind the door, ever so slightly muffled.
The two men jumped.
After a few seconds, the voice repeated. “Where is blondie….I want blondie.”
“How the hell did she know we were here?!”
“Cuz you made too much noise, ya idiot!”
There was a loud crash inside the closet. The men jumped again.
“I think she is talkin’ bout Who’re, Jones.”
“She’s upstairs getting ready on the set, champ! She is doubling as Vanna White tonight!”
There was a soft hiss from behind the door.
“Attwood?”
“She is working the red carpet outside, doing interviews and—-”
The door flung open. The closet was completely disheveled, with tools everywhere. Open canisters of bleach sat on every shelf, and it smelled as though the entire closet was covered in it.
“Do you gentlemen think Clorox is flammable?”
They looked at each other, then back at SYNN. She had a box of matches in her hand.
“JESUS CHRIST WOMAN! You trying to burn the entire building down?!”
She shrugs.
“Maybe?”
“Okay well…..we found ya. We’ll tell Tamika, have a great evenin–”
Ronald grabs Jones by the arm.
“Boss lady says to get an promo. She’s here now, so, lets get a promo.”
SYNN takes a match out and sparks it against the side. The two men back up. The demon smiles as she blows it out.
“Next time, send Blondie.”
The two men nodded.
Just when it seemed like they weren’t going to get their promo, SYNN spoke.
“Sometimes a loss tells a better story than a win. Remember when I said that? It’s true. If I would have won the Craze Title back then, would this story be as sweet? The underdog of underdogs, the newcomer, the OCW fan-turned-wrestler who has tipped this company on its ear. Who woulda thunk it? Here we are. An era of fear. An era of torment. An era of SYNN. Some people are rooting for me, some people aren’t. Some people think I’m a paper champion, some people think I am the face of the franchise. We are all entitled to our own opinions, no?
When you have fans, you have enemies. Some of them will be blatant about it–you will know. Some will move in silence, and turn out to be the only ones you’d never suspect. The ones you trusted even. Nobody wants to see you rise, if it means they fall. There can only be one apex predator, but everyone thinks being an apex predator is easy. Top of the food chain, nothing else that can take them down within their own kingdom, right?
How about a bullet ripping apart your cranium and exploding in your cerebral cortex?
Chances are, you’d never even see it coming. Not if the hunter is good enough. You’d be dead before you heard the sound, before you had a chance to even process the situation. It’s harder, believe it or not, to be a predator than it is to be prey. So much more pressure to be precise, to make the right choice. To be prey, all you have to do is be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
IT’S SO EASY TO BE PREY
Being a predator takes skill, patience, practice and precision. You have to want it more than those around you, and you have to be willing to take it away from them.
My opponent at the paper view is a mystery. That might irritate some people. To be, it's intriguing! What is ol’ T. Shrades cookin’ up? Is there another apex predator on this roster right now? Hell, I’ve done her a favor by cleaning this place up a little.
Drain the swamp, if you will.
I came in with that predator mentality because if I didn’t, well let's face it, I’d be the prey. This roster is small, but the talent here is among the best in the world. I came in here and immediately was in the ring with the likes of Dylan Thomas, Charlie Nickels, Robbie Bourbon, Harmon Egan, The Standard, you name it. Where are they all now? Dylan is MIA, Robbie is gone, Egan took his ball and went home, Standard is back on the unemployment line. Harmon Egan left, he claims, because of differences in viewpoints from those in management—so he claims.
The real reason Harmon Egan left?
He. Couldn’t. Beat. Me.
Robbie Bourbon, Dylan Thomas, The Standard, they couldn’t beat me.
Charlie Nickels left to go back to his underwhelming career in XWF and now wants to come crawling back–he smells blood in the water—why? Because he is the only one on that list who HAS. I’ll give him credit for that. It was my first real match here. He tried to stop me before I got started, he wanted to take advantage of the new blood. He is a sniveling snake who undercuts anyone in his path. A predator? No. Charlie Nickels is a scavenger. He wants to come back? I welcome him back……I welcome him to join his buddies in the scrap pile.
I was brought here and given a goal to work towards. Did I think it was to be the World Champion after 5 months? No. It was to clean the toxic sludge known as B.O.B out of the OCW engine, and I’ve done that. He wants to be a lone minnow in a shark pond, so be it, but I think Charlie boy has proven time and time again that he can’t get it done on his own.
When I first got here, nobody wanted me here. I had to scratch and claw and bite my way through, and here I stand.
The apex predator.
This girl in the body I inhabit, she’s been prey her entire life. Bullied, abused, taken advantage of, given the runaround. Scared. She didn’t know how to use all that fear inside her body. She didn’t know how to embrace being different. She created me, and the silly girl, she had no idea what she was doing. I’ve been called a demon by some…….
You’re goddamn right.
But I’m an honest one. I pull no punches. I am here to represent the only company I’ve ever watched, and the only place that gave me a chance.
They gave me a chance to be the predator that Juniper has always been afraid to be, and to take this company to a level never before seen. It’s a whirlwind, surely, but even a tornado can’t stop me.
I’ve made new friends, new enemies, and a new life. I’ve become the hunter because even though I hold this title, I am still hungry.
Can you hear this tummy rumbling?
I stand here in front of you all as your apex predator, and welcome anyone to my kingdom who wants to knock me off my pedestal.”
She curls her lip, sticking her tongue through her teeth. She makes a hiss sound, breathing in deep as her eyes roll. Almost as if in a trance, she looks back at the camera with dark black pupils, wide as quarters.
“Good luck.”
The demon slams the door. The chimes jingle as the smack against it. A slight breeze causes the trees to rustle in Burbank. Crows caws break the eerie silence. Inside?! Crows cawed INSIDE?
Shadows.
The two men ran away from the closet as quickly as they good, their duties fulfilled.
10-3
1x OH SHIT Contract Holder
SLAYER of HARMON EGAN
BEHEADER of B.O.B
1x OCW CHAMPION
1x OH SHIT Contract Holder
SLAYER of HARMON EGAN
BEHEADER of B.O.B
1x OCW CHAMPION