Post by Matt on Nov 16, 2022 10:17:02 GMT -5
There is a new show in town. You heard about it through the grapevine: some random chatter on Twitter. A few posts to a couple of message boards you’ve frequented since you were first able to figure out how to properly get Google search to locate such places. Your group Messenger chat, that is made up of people all across town who you happened to meet through your shared interest in this sort of thing.
Everyone you talk to now had to go through the same ritual in order to connect to each other. Except for that one guy who said he used Bing. That guy is just a little off, and no one likes talking to him unless it’s in the group chat. You know, just in case.
Thankfully that particular user is too busy to show his face tonight. The other people in the group though? They’re all in. The tickets were purchased and seating argued about. The same debates that happen for every show you and this group of friends decide to attend, so much so that you can recite from heart what each participant is going to say before they say it.
Friendship can become rather predictable after a while, can’t it?
Everyone arrives at the venue at the agreed upon time. As you stand and wait for admittance inside you can’t help but feel that things are not what you expected. The energy of the other patrons, it’s just hitting different tonight. Opening nights can be like that sometimes, and so you brush such thoughts aside, especially once they begin to let everyone enter.
That sense refuses to go away fully, however. In the line to use the restroom before the show, it lingers. At the concession stand to get some popcorn and a beer? It remains buzzing in the back of your mind. Even once you take your seat. You can’t explain it. You just know that this is going to be… something. You can’t quite put your finger on it.
Then the lights go down fully, flooding the hall with the deepest blackness you’ll ever experience in your life. The performance is about to begin.
A spotlight hits the stage as murmuring can be heard from the darkness, the rest of the audience making their presence known as Jack Sullivan steps into view. The crimson dress she wore gleams as she centers herself in the spotlight, stepping to a microphone that was stationed there. Her dress is cut tastefully and complimentary, the skirt flowing and unrestrictive to her movements as she takes the microphone off of the stand.
“Salutations, darlings. You’ll have to forgive me, this is my first time upon this particular stage. Despite that, there’s a certain… comfort to it, isn’t there?”
More murmurs emanate from the crowd around you, a wry smile forming upon the woman’s lips as she resumes.
“Once upon a time my father worked to make a name for himself in this place. While he only ever held the Television title, he made an impact nonetheless, right? He shared the ring with the likes of Lurrr, Jin Royale, El Linchador, Killa Kali, Josh Allen, Andy Murray, Silver Cyanide, Titan 3, and others.”
Jack takes a deep breath as she begins to walk along the stage, the spotlight following her movements. Behind her shapes begin to rise out from the ebony floor of the stage, contorting and shifting until they take the form of memories from the past. It starts with the first main event match her father ever had in OCW, as he, El Linchador, and The Great One took on Jin Royale, Josh Allen, and Silver Cyanide. The match unfolds with the elder Jack’s side losing out, an event that would kick off a career-long feud between him and the trio that occupied the opposite side of the ring.
You couldn’t help but watch in awe at what was taking place before you, leaning forward in your chair to try to determine if there was simply a screen you couldn’t see, holograms, or something else entirely.
“His career began in an OCW ring. It was a different time, and he used the rather silly “Redeemer” moniker. Even still, he kept at it, and went on to have success in other places.”
The shades of matches past alter in their form, this time to show Jack Sullivan triumphantly holding up the NLW Championship in a succession of matches: first he defeats OCW Hall of Famer Andy Murray. Then, Jack delivers a brutal crucifix powerbomb to OCW standout Jin Royale to retain that championship. The younger Jack’s attention turns towards the action, a smile forming on her face as she watches her father’s triumphs.
“Still. Those successes weren’t in OCW. When he did return to OCW over the years, he had himself plenty of high-profile matches, but never managed to climb to the top of the mountain.”
A new figure forms upon the stage, that of the Hall of Famer Silver Cyanide. He and the elder Sullivan begin to clash, with Sullivan getting the better of him. The euphoria of that particular victory was short lived, however, as Jin Royale appears and pins the man before Top Dog arrives to pin them both. The elder Jack sits up, anguish in his eyes as all the other shapes and figures dissolve back from whence they came.
As the scene unfolds Jack joins the audience in watching, stepping over and trying to reach out and touch her father on the shoulder, an attempt to offer him support. As her fingers are about to come into contact with him the man looks up before abruptly joining his compatriots in their escape, with Jack’s hand passing through what looks to be sand. The woman’s brow furrows as she lets out a sigh, turning her attention back towards the blackness surrounding the stage. The crowd is speechless at this point, and you likewise have no true grasp on how any of this is being done, just that you wish to see more.
“Despite that, OCW has seen fit to honor him, etching his name upon their list of memorable competitors, acknowledging that while he left meat on the bone when it comes down to it, very few have ever done it better. Such was his impact that when word got out that I was getting into the business OCW put out feelers and started asking “Jack, what would it take to get you in an OCW ring?””
That gets a rise out of the unseen masses surrounding you, a torrent of noise pouring from the darkness. The cacophony makes it impossible to determine what is being said, but the energy in the air is palpable for the young wrestler as she gazes out from the stage, surveying the mass of people that lies beyond it. You almost feel as though she spots you specifically, a sense that your visions have locked upon each other as she continues.
“I wasn’t ready for it then. I had just signed with Level Up and was trying to find my footing in that. I’m sure anyone who’s ever been in the ring can tell you that this business comes at you fast, and you need to get your feet wet. Jumping into the deep end right away is usually a pretty big mistake. Despite that reluctance, a little flame was born deep in the pit of my stomach. This isn’t the kind of business in which you pass on opportunities, and I knew that.”
As Jack speaks, a trap door within the stage opens up, and an ornate torch begins to ascend from underneath. Jack sets the microphone back on the stand before moving to pick it up, the spotlight dimming down once the flame was close enough to illuminate her.
“So I watched. I took it in as men my dad told me about went to war amongst themselves with the OCW Championship as the prize. The one that eluded my old man. Those observations made that fire burn with ever greater intensity, and then. And then PIC got his hands on that gold.”
Jack turns the torch in her hands, the fiery terminus increasing in size. She then holds it straight before her, stepping towards the edge of the stage and swinging it out into the shadowy abyss surrounding her. It does little to impact the encroaching black, but it causes a satisfied chuckle to escape Jackie’s pursed lips. You let out a sigh of relief, as you are far enough back that no matter how hard she swung that torch it couldn’t reach you.
“Now that. That is a little too perfect if you ask me. The fans have been waiting almost twenty years for Jack Sullivan to hold the OCW Championship, and now it’s being held by someone the fans hand waited almost twenty years for Jack Sullivan to face? I’m not one for the idea of fate, but I will admit, this is pretty compelling. Except.”
You watch as Jack falls quiet, her gaze focusing upon the torch. The crackle of the flame dances in her clear blue eyes as the grappler contemplates her next words.
“I’m not that Jack Sullivan. I mean, look at me. My dad could never pull off a dress like this! I’m sure there’s a few freaks out in the audience who’d love to see that, but I feel like I could count most of you out there. To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not feeling this either. This dress, this isn’t me. This is me trying to meet you half-way. This is me giving in to expectations. That’s what the fans want from the women in this business, right? Slinky get ups and cheesecake shots posted to Twitter so you can all drool!?”
Jack’s voice is thick with contempt as she speaks, the venom unbridled in each word. She clenches her teeth before taking a deep breath, recollecting herself before she presses on. The comment makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair, having taken in your fair share of such content over the years. There was no shame in enjoying it, but that didn’t make being called out on it feel any less stinging in the moment.
“That’s not fair, my apologies. Not every fan is obsessed with such things, and to those fans I offer my deepest thanks. To those who are…”
The gesture Jack gives towards the audience is as crude as it is unsuitable for description, and an uproar comes from the shadows as a result. Jack laughs it off, giving a playful wink that you couldn’t help but feel was directed at you before she gives another gesture, this time towards the torch she held in her other hand.
“I’m sure you’re all familiar with the idea of “carrying a torch”, right? Unrequited love. In the time I’ve spent in the business this year, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m truly holding a torch for it. It hasn’t loved me back though. Not yet. I’ve clawed and worked and barely gotten any notice from it yet. That’s the kind of thing that’s to be expected for someone just embarking on their career, yeah? You gotta make this business fall in love with you. That’s why all those wrestlers go about showing off their bodies and clamor for the social media spotlight. They want that love. I do too. Not that way though. Never that way.”
Jack takes the torch in both hands, holding it up above her head before tossing it down to dash it against the stage. It shatters upon impact, the flame dissipating and leaving everything pitch black.
“I’m going to do this my way, OCW. Your Rumble In The Bronx match gives me the perfect platform to accomplish that. You’ve opened up the floor for whoever decides that they want to step up to reach for the stars. Such a huge opportunity.”
As Jack speaks a pillar of flame erupts on the stage behind her. Soon it is joined by another, and then another, creating a wall as enough light enters the area to show Jack. Her outfit has changed, no longer is she clad in that dress, instead wearing a well-tailored red suit and tie with a black dress shirt underneath. Her blonde hair is pulled back with a crimson fedora on her head. She takes a moment to adjust the tie before she reaches up to tip the bill of the hat towards the audience, which cheers in surprise at the sudden wardrobe change.
From your perspective, you can’t help but be stunned at the fiery display before you, and the potential danger it represents to everyone else in the hall. Yet, no one else seems to mind, which eases your own thoughts after a few moments.
“This outfit is much more my speed, OCW. Let’s start things off by stating the absolute obvious: I will be entering the Rumble match. My hat is being thrown into the ring.”
She flashes a cheeky grin as she removes the hat from her head, tossing it out into the amorphous darkness that despite the light of the fires refuses to leave with the same stubbornness of an unruly houseguest. You imagine some lucky audience member will catch it to get it signed later, rueing not getting better seats.
“It won’t be easy. Everyone who climbs into the ring that night is going to know that in their hearts as they jockey for position and work to be the last person standing. Nothing comes easy in OCW. My little history lesson earlier should’ve made that much obvious. That history, that knowledge, that’s a nice little advantage for me to keep in my back pocket.”
Jack begins to unbutton her suit jacket, removing it and tossing it back into the center pillar of flame, which engulfs the fabric with such vigor that the material is reduced to ash in mere moments.
“All those great legends of this business, I grew up surrounded by them. I can pick their brains, find out their secrets. Learn what they have to teach me in order to succeed at this. I know it’s something that will come in handy, because I’m sure there will be plenty of legends in their own right in this Rumble match. I’ve heard Alice Knight will be there. I’m sure guys like The Big Bifford and Mike Zybala will be as well. Hell, maybe we’ll even see people like The Lost Soul or Curt Canon or some other relic of OCW’s past will try their hand at it.”
Jack let out a haughty laugh at the idea of the men entering, her confidence burning as brightly as the flames that served as her backdrop as she spoke.
“I’m not afraid of any of that. I’m not going to sweat Diana Watts, or the Dukes, or Harmon Eagan, or Ball Ball, or Dylan Thomas or anyone else! I’m the one that all of them should be worrying about. I’m the one they should be scrambling to find tape on so they can study and try to figure out my weaknesses. I have something they don’t. I have a purpose. I have a destiny to fulfill. A score to settle.”
Once more a trap door opens within the stage, and another torch rises out from underneath. Jack steps forward to grasp it, lifting it into the air.
“Being a torchbearer isn’t just about unrequited love. Sometimes a torchbearer is a harbinger. The start of something great. The Olympic Games don’t start until a torchbearer brings the torch forward and lights the ceremonial flame for the whole world to see. That’s what I represent, OCW. While I’m the product of a legacy deeply rooted in your past I come to you bearing the gift of a brighter and greater future than you could’ve possibly imagined. No one else in this Rumble match could do that for you, OCW. No one else is as bound to your past while offering so much for your future. No one else could shine so bright.”
The fiery pillars begin to dim in their intensity once the torch is back in Jack’s possession, the woman holding it before her as she approaches the edge of the stage once more, with the light from the object at least cutting through the darkness enough that you can see the people near you.
“PIC. I need you to do me a favor and beat Mike Mason. I need you to beat BOB at the Rumble. You owe that to me. You owe that to my father. You owe that to the fans that have waited almost twenty years to see you go one on one with Jack Sullivan. I’m going to be winning the Rumble match, and at the end of the year when I step into the ring to face the OCW Champion I need the man standing in the opposing corner to be you. Everyone watching at home does too.”
Behind Jack the raging fires continued to die down, and it wasn’t long before they were out completely, once more leaving Jack holding the only source of light within the hall.
“I’m coming to you to serve as your guiding light, OCW. I’ve watched as you’ve suffered under the yoke of Thaddeus Duke and the Straders. I’ve seen all the drama and all the nonsense that has been brought upon you by the people who claim to have your best interest at heart. You’ve been a hot mess, getting dragged down by their foolish games. It’s time that all got fixed. You need to enter 2023 ready to begin a new era. You need me to win as much as I need the win for myself and for my family legacy. I’m on the rise, OCW. Join me, and we’ll rise together.”
The wrestler smiles broadly to the audience before she blows upon the flame, extinguishing it and leaving the audience to be engulfed with the darkness fully once more. A roar of applause rips through the crowd and you can’t help but join in.
The future looks bright.
Everyone you talk to now had to go through the same ritual in order to connect to each other. Except for that one guy who said he used Bing. That guy is just a little off, and no one likes talking to him unless it’s in the group chat. You know, just in case.
Thankfully that particular user is too busy to show his face tonight. The other people in the group though? They’re all in. The tickets were purchased and seating argued about. The same debates that happen for every show you and this group of friends decide to attend, so much so that you can recite from heart what each participant is going to say before they say it.
Friendship can become rather predictable after a while, can’t it?
Everyone arrives at the venue at the agreed upon time. As you stand and wait for admittance inside you can’t help but feel that things are not what you expected. The energy of the other patrons, it’s just hitting different tonight. Opening nights can be like that sometimes, and so you brush such thoughts aside, especially once they begin to let everyone enter.
That sense refuses to go away fully, however. In the line to use the restroom before the show, it lingers. At the concession stand to get some popcorn and a beer? It remains buzzing in the back of your mind. Even once you take your seat. You can’t explain it. You just know that this is going to be… something. You can’t quite put your finger on it.
Then the lights go down fully, flooding the hall with the deepest blackness you’ll ever experience in your life. The performance is about to begin.
A spotlight hits the stage as murmuring can be heard from the darkness, the rest of the audience making their presence known as Jack Sullivan steps into view. The crimson dress she wore gleams as she centers herself in the spotlight, stepping to a microphone that was stationed there. Her dress is cut tastefully and complimentary, the skirt flowing and unrestrictive to her movements as she takes the microphone off of the stand.
“Salutations, darlings. You’ll have to forgive me, this is my first time upon this particular stage. Despite that, there’s a certain… comfort to it, isn’t there?”
More murmurs emanate from the crowd around you, a wry smile forming upon the woman’s lips as she resumes.
“Once upon a time my father worked to make a name for himself in this place. While he only ever held the Television title, he made an impact nonetheless, right? He shared the ring with the likes of Lurrr, Jin Royale, El Linchador, Killa Kali, Josh Allen, Andy Murray, Silver Cyanide, Titan 3, and others.”
Jack takes a deep breath as she begins to walk along the stage, the spotlight following her movements. Behind her shapes begin to rise out from the ebony floor of the stage, contorting and shifting until they take the form of memories from the past. It starts with the first main event match her father ever had in OCW, as he, El Linchador, and The Great One took on Jin Royale, Josh Allen, and Silver Cyanide. The match unfolds with the elder Jack’s side losing out, an event that would kick off a career-long feud between him and the trio that occupied the opposite side of the ring.
You couldn’t help but watch in awe at what was taking place before you, leaning forward in your chair to try to determine if there was simply a screen you couldn’t see, holograms, or something else entirely.
“His career began in an OCW ring. It was a different time, and he used the rather silly “Redeemer” moniker. Even still, he kept at it, and went on to have success in other places.”
The shades of matches past alter in their form, this time to show Jack Sullivan triumphantly holding up the NLW Championship in a succession of matches: first he defeats OCW Hall of Famer Andy Murray. Then, Jack delivers a brutal crucifix powerbomb to OCW standout Jin Royale to retain that championship. The younger Jack’s attention turns towards the action, a smile forming on her face as she watches her father’s triumphs.
“Still. Those successes weren’t in OCW. When he did return to OCW over the years, he had himself plenty of high-profile matches, but never managed to climb to the top of the mountain.”
A new figure forms upon the stage, that of the Hall of Famer Silver Cyanide. He and the elder Sullivan begin to clash, with Sullivan getting the better of him. The euphoria of that particular victory was short lived, however, as Jin Royale appears and pins the man before Top Dog arrives to pin them both. The elder Jack sits up, anguish in his eyes as all the other shapes and figures dissolve back from whence they came.
As the scene unfolds Jack joins the audience in watching, stepping over and trying to reach out and touch her father on the shoulder, an attempt to offer him support. As her fingers are about to come into contact with him the man looks up before abruptly joining his compatriots in their escape, with Jack’s hand passing through what looks to be sand. The woman’s brow furrows as she lets out a sigh, turning her attention back towards the blackness surrounding the stage. The crowd is speechless at this point, and you likewise have no true grasp on how any of this is being done, just that you wish to see more.
“Despite that, OCW has seen fit to honor him, etching his name upon their list of memorable competitors, acknowledging that while he left meat on the bone when it comes down to it, very few have ever done it better. Such was his impact that when word got out that I was getting into the business OCW put out feelers and started asking “Jack, what would it take to get you in an OCW ring?””
That gets a rise out of the unseen masses surrounding you, a torrent of noise pouring from the darkness. The cacophony makes it impossible to determine what is being said, but the energy in the air is palpable for the young wrestler as she gazes out from the stage, surveying the mass of people that lies beyond it. You almost feel as though she spots you specifically, a sense that your visions have locked upon each other as she continues.
“I wasn’t ready for it then. I had just signed with Level Up and was trying to find my footing in that. I’m sure anyone who’s ever been in the ring can tell you that this business comes at you fast, and you need to get your feet wet. Jumping into the deep end right away is usually a pretty big mistake. Despite that reluctance, a little flame was born deep in the pit of my stomach. This isn’t the kind of business in which you pass on opportunities, and I knew that.”
As Jack speaks, a trap door within the stage opens up, and an ornate torch begins to ascend from underneath. Jack sets the microphone back on the stand before moving to pick it up, the spotlight dimming down once the flame was close enough to illuminate her.
“So I watched. I took it in as men my dad told me about went to war amongst themselves with the OCW Championship as the prize. The one that eluded my old man. Those observations made that fire burn with ever greater intensity, and then. And then PIC got his hands on that gold.”
Jack turns the torch in her hands, the fiery terminus increasing in size. She then holds it straight before her, stepping towards the edge of the stage and swinging it out into the shadowy abyss surrounding her. It does little to impact the encroaching black, but it causes a satisfied chuckle to escape Jackie’s pursed lips. You let out a sigh of relief, as you are far enough back that no matter how hard she swung that torch it couldn’t reach you.
“Now that. That is a little too perfect if you ask me. The fans have been waiting almost twenty years for Jack Sullivan to hold the OCW Championship, and now it’s being held by someone the fans hand waited almost twenty years for Jack Sullivan to face? I’m not one for the idea of fate, but I will admit, this is pretty compelling. Except.”
You watch as Jack falls quiet, her gaze focusing upon the torch. The crackle of the flame dances in her clear blue eyes as the grappler contemplates her next words.
“I’m not that Jack Sullivan. I mean, look at me. My dad could never pull off a dress like this! I’m sure there’s a few freaks out in the audience who’d love to see that, but I feel like I could count most of you out there. To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not feeling this either. This dress, this isn’t me. This is me trying to meet you half-way. This is me giving in to expectations. That’s what the fans want from the women in this business, right? Slinky get ups and cheesecake shots posted to Twitter so you can all drool!?”
Jack’s voice is thick with contempt as she speaks, the venom unbridled in each word. She clenches her teeth before taking a deep breath, recollecting herself before she presses on. The comment makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair, having taken in your fair share of such content over the years. There was no shame in enjoying it, but that didn’t make being called out on it feel any less stinging in the moment.
“That’s not fair, my apologies. Not every fan is obsessed with such things, and to those fans I offer my deepest thanks. To those who are…”
The gesture Jack gives towards the audience is as crude as it is unsuitable for description, and an uproar comes from the shadows as a result. Jack laughs it off, giving a playful wink that you couldn’t help but feel was directed at you before she gives another gesture, this time towards the torch she held in her other hand.
“I’m sure you’re all familiar with the idea of “carrying a torch”, right? Unrequited love. In the time I’ve spent in the business this year, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m truly holding a torch for it. It hasn’t loved me back though. Not yet. I’ve clawed and worked and barely gotten any notice from it yet. That’s the kind of thing that’s to be expected for someone just embarking on their career, yeah? You gotta make this business fall in love with you. That’s why all those wrestlers go about showing off their bodies and clamor for the social media spotlight. They want that love. I do too. Not that way though. Never that way.”
Jack takes the torch in both hands, holding it up above her head before tossing it down to dash it against the stage. It shatters upon impact, the flame dissipating and leaving everything pitch black.
“I’m going to do this my way, OCW. Your Rumble In The Bronx match gives me the perfect platform to accomplish that. You’ve opened up the floor for whoever decides that they want to step up to reach for the stars. Such a huge opportunity.”
As Jack speaks a pillar of flame erupts on the stage behind her. Soon it is joined by another, and then another, creating a wall as enough light enters the area to show Jack. Her outfit has changed, no longer is she clad in that dress, instead wearing a well-tailored red suit and tie with a black dress shirt underneath. Her blonde hair is pulled back with a crimson fedora on her head. She takes a moment to adjust the tie before she reaches up to tip the bill of the hat towards the audience, which cheers in surprise at the sudden wardrobe change.
From your perspective, you can’t help but be stunned at the fiery display before you, and the potential danger it represents to everyone else in the hall. Yet, no one else seems to mind, which eases your own thoughts after a few moments.
“This outfit is much more my speed, OCW. Let’s start things off by stating the absolute obvious: I will be entering the Rumble match. My hat is being thrown into the ring.”
She flashes a cheeky grin as she removes the hat from her head, tossing it out into the amorphous darkness that despite the light of the fires refuses to leave with the same stubbornness of an unruly houseguest. You imagine some lucky audience member will catch it to get it signed later, rueing not getting better seats.
“It won’t be easy. Everyone who climbs into the ring that night is going to know that in their hearts as they jockey for position and work to be the last person standing. Nothing comes easy in OCW. My little history lesson earlier should’ve made that much obvious. That history, that knowledge, that’s a nice little advantage for me to keep in my back pocket.”
Jack begins to unbutton her suit jacket, removing it and tossing it back into the center pillar of flame, which engulfs the fabric with such vigor that the material is reduced to ash in mere moments.
“All those great legends of this business, I grew up surrounded by them. I can pick their brains, find out their secrets. Learn what they have to teach me in order to succeed at this. I know it’s something that will come in handy, because I’m sure there will be plenty of legends in their own right in this Rumble match. I’ve heard Alice Knight will be there. I’m sure guys like The Big Bifford and Mike Zybala will be as well. Hell, maybe we’ll even see people like The Lost Soul or Curt Canon or some other relic of OCW’s past will try their hand at it.”
Jack let out a haughty laugh at the idea of the men entering, her confidence burning as brightly as the flames that served as her backdrop as she spoke.
“I’m not afraid of any of that. I’m not going to sweat Diana Watts, or the Dukes, or Harmon Eagan, or Ball Ball, or Dylan Thomas or anyone else! I’m the one that all of them should be worrying about. I’m the one they should be scrambling to find tape on so they can study and try to figure out my weaknesses. I have something they don’t. I have a purpose. I have a destiny to fulfill. A score to settle.”
Once more a trap door opens within the stage, and another torch rises out from underneath. Jack steps forward to grasp it, lifting it into the air.
“Being a torchbearer isn’t just about unrequited love. Sometimes a torchbearer is a harbinger. The start of something great. The Olympic Games don’t start until a torchbearer brings the torch forward and lights the ceremonial flame for the whole world to see. That’s what I represent, OCW. While I’m the product of a legacy deeply rooted in your past I come to you bearing the gift of a brighter and greater future than you could’ve possibly imagined. No one else in this Rumble match could do that for you, OCW. No one else is as bound to your past while offering so much for your future. No one else could shine so bright.”
The fiery pillars begin to dim in their intensity once the torch is back in Jack’s possession, the woman holding it before her as she approaches the edge of the stage once more, with the light from the object at least cutting through the darkness enough that you can see the people near you.
“PIC. I need you to do me a favor and beat Mike Mason. I need you to beat BOB at the Rumble. You owe that to me. You owe that to my father. You owe that to the fans that have waited almost twenty years to see you go one on one with Jack Sullivan. I’m going to be winning the Rumble match, and at the end of the year when I step into the ring to face the OCW Champion I need the man standing in the opposing corner to be you. Everyone watching at home does too.”
Behind Jack the raging fires continued to die down, and it wasn’t long before they were out completely, once more leaving Jack holding the only source of light within the hall.
“I’m coming to you to serve as your guiding light, OCW. I’ve watched as you’ve suffered under the yoke of Thaddeus Duke and the Straders. I’ve seen all the drama and all the nonsense that has been brought upon you by the people who claim to have your best interest at heart. You’ve been a hot mess, getting dragged down by their foolish games. It’s time that all got fixed. You need to enter 2023 ready to begin a new era. You need me to win as much as I need the win for myself and for my family legacy. I’m on the rise, OCW. Join me, and we’ll rise together.”
The wrestler smiles broadly to the audience before she blows upon the flame, extinguishing it and leaving the audience to be engulfed with the darkness fully once more. A roar of applause rips through the crowd and you can’t help but join in.
The future looks bright.