tylerdurden
League Member
Fade in.
A barren one room apartment in London, England. Paint peels off of the walls, the flakes falling and gathering at the baseboards of this delapidated home. Aside from a floor lamp, there's only one piece of furniture in the room... a weight bench which houses a large bar, stacked with pound after pound of weight plates. Underneath the bar lays John Miller, his eyes closed, sweat pouring from his brow. Miller wears only a pair of gray sweatpants, the rest of his body open for examination. Long scars make their way over John's chest and abdomen, a testament to the history shared between himself and barbed wire. Sweat rolls over John's skin as he takes a deep breath, and then lifts the bar off of the rack. Letting the weight down to his chest, he goes into thought. He thrusts the bar upwards, then pauses. Again he brings it back to his chest...
Never stop... never rest. Again and again you have tried, yet you have always failed. No more. You will not fail. You will not fail.
John thrusts the bar up again, almost instinctively. His eyes remained closed, his mind wandering as he slips into his zone.
You can't stop. Why? Because they don't stop do they? Because every single time you have tried, someone's been there to stop YOU. But not anymore... not anymore.
Miller does a few more repetitions, then places the bar up onto the rack. He walks over to the open door of a small closet. The closet, much like the apartment, is completely void of anything, except for one small bar which sits across the top of the doorway. John grabs a hold of it and begins doing pull ups, again, his eyes closed.
They can't hold you down any longer. No one can hold you down. They can only prolong it. You're the man of steel. You're the icon. Or are you? Where's the belt, John? Where's it sitting right this second?
John continues his pullups, performing them at a more feverish pace. He continues on, faster and faster. A look of anger crosses his clenched face.
Where has it been for the past 7 years? You worked... and you worked... and year after year, you have been DENIED. You told everyone you were going to do this a LONG time ago, John. You lied to everyone... you lied.
Miller shakes his head "no" as he furiously starts to quicken his pace. Sweat pours over his features, his taped knuckles as well.
You can't lie anymore. You say you're going to do something... and you better damn well do it, John. You're a man of your word, aren't you? Then why haven't you won it yet? Why does it escape you? You're losing your grasp on this business, aren't you?
John tightens his grip on the bar, his fingers beginning to turn white. Miller continues his relentless training, unaffected by the ongoings of the outside world.
Why does HE have it? Why is ZERO our World Champion? Is he YOUR World Champion? He was right, wasn't he? You don't even know the man, yet Nate Logan knows YOU like the back of his hand. You ARE in this for yourself... you son of a #####....
John drops to the floor, landing on his knees. A cloud of dust flies off the wooden floorboards, surrounding the fallen man. John rests his face in the palms of his hands, breathing heavily.
No you're not... no you're not. You just want the best for this company... you just want the best for wrestling. You love this business.... you love the fans. But do the fans love you? Do the fans love a quitter?
John lets out a growl, then slams his fist off of the floor. He rubs his head with this other hand, then runs it over his scalp.
Why don't you quit John? Why don't you? Lehew beat you. Twice. Zero beat you. Is it all worth it? Is the pain and anguish worth it?
John takes his hand and slowly runs it over top a large scar on his arm. He opens his eyes, then sits against the wall, bringing his knees to his chest. He rests his arms atop them, still pondering.
You're damn right it's worth it. And you better never forget that fact. Because it's all you have. This business... that title... it's your life. This is what you ARE, John. This is what the Steel City Icon is all about. This is why you can't move on. Wrestling flows through your veins like blood. You lose... you get up. You win... you get up. You continue... and the cycle never ends. It never WILL end... until IT's in your hands. So what the f*ck are you doing? Don't f*cking sit there.
John leans forward and begins doing a set of pushups. His arms shake as he continues to push...
That's right. Keep going John. Keep going. You'll never stop... you'll never quit. Not until the day that you f*cking die. Who's going to stop you? Chris Lehew? Dan Ryan? Kendall Codine? ZERO? Who John? Who is going to tell you you're not the best this business has to offer? Sampson? Powers? Gemini? Hellfighter? WHO? WHO wants this like you??? NOBODY! NO ONE!!! KEEP GOING MOTHER F*CKER!!! TILL YOUR ARMS FALL OFF YOUR F*CKING SHOULDERS!!!
John speeds up, his arms shaking violently. He performs pushup after pushup, never resting, never pausing.
They can't stop you. Zero or Lehew. Neither of them. They're consumed with each other. But you... the object of your desire... it's right there in your grasp. All you have to do is reach out and take it, John. Logan is tormented... haunted by Lehew. His passion lies in Lehew's destruction. Your's... that's a different story. It's so simple... isn't it? It's just a belt. It's just gold and leather. Or is it? Who's really worse off here, Miller? Zero, Lehew, or YOU?
John ceases his pushups, immediately stopping in the middle of one. He stands up, breathing heavily, his hands on his hips. John walks over and sits on the weight bench, looking down at the floorboards where he just was. His eyes narrow as he clenches his fists.
You can't stop now... you can't. Your father never would have. Your father would have rode your ass until that belt was around your very waist. He wouldn't have taken a breather. He never did. Even after all those days at the steel mill... after all the work... all the pain... he never stopped, did he? Until the day he died... until he couldn't do it anymore. You're father was the icon... your father WAS the steel city. And now... it's your turn.
John stands up slowly, walking over to the doorway. He flicks a switch on the wall, plunging the apartment into darkness. John exits through the door, not looking back.]
Fade to black.
A barren one room apartment in London, England. Paint peels off of the walls, the flakes falling and gathering at the baseboards of this delapidated home. Aside from a floor lamp, there's only one piece of furniture in the room... a weight bench which houses a large bar, stacked with pound after pound of weight plates. Underneath the bar lays John Miller, his eyes closed, sweat pouring from his brow. Miller wears only a pair of gray sweatpants, the rest of his body open for examination. Long scars make their way over John's chest and abdomen, a testament to the history shared between himself and barbed wire. Sweat rolls over John's skin as he takes a deep breath, and then lifts the bar off of the rack. Letting the weight down to his chest, he goes into thought. He thrusts the bar upwards, then pauses. Again he brings it back to his chest...
Never stop... never rest. Again and again you have tried, yet you have always failed. No more. You will not fail. You will not fail.
John thrusts the bar up again, almost instinctively. His eyes remained closed, his mind wandering as he slips into his zone.
You can't stop. Why? Because they don't stop do they? Because every single time you have tried, someone's been there to stop YOU. But not anymore... not anymore.
Miller does a few more repetitions, then places the bar up onto the rack. He walks over to the open door of a small closet. The closet, much like the apartment, is completely void of anything, except for one small bar which sits across the top of the doorway. John grabs a hold of it and begins doing pull ups, again, his eyes closed.
They can't hold you down any longer. No one can hold you down. They can only prolong it. You're the man of steel. You're the icon. Or are you? Where's the belt, John? Where's it sitting right this second?
John continues his pullups, performing them at a more feverish pace. He continues on, faster and faster. A look of anger crosses his clenched face.
Where has it been for the past 7 years? You worked... and you worked... and year after year, you have been DENIED. You told everyone you were going to do this a LONG time ago, John. You lied to everyone... you lied.
Miller shakes his head "no" as he furiously starts to quicken his pace. Sweat pours over his features, his taped knuckles as well.
You can't lie anymore. You say you're going to do something... and you better damn well do it, John. You're a man of your word, aren't you? Then why haven't you won it yet? Why does it escape you? You're losing your grasp on this business, aren't you?
John tightens his grip on the bar, his fingers beginning to turn white. Miller continues his relentless training, unaffected by the ongoings of the outside world.
Why does HE have it? Why is ZERO our World Champion? Is he YOUR World Champion? He was right, wasn't he? You don't even know the man, yet Nate Logan knows YOU like the back of his hand. You ARE in this for yourself... you son of a #####....
John drops to the floor, landing on his knees. A cloud of dust flies off the wooden floorboards, surrounding the fallen man. John rests his face in the palms of his hands, breathing heavily.
No you're not... no you're not. You just want the best for this company... you just want the best for wrestling. You love this business.... you love the fans. But do the fans love you? Do the fans love a quitter?
John lets out a growl, then slams his fist off of the floor. He rubs his head with this other hand, then runs it over his scalp.
Why don't you quit John? Why don't you? Lehew beat you. Twice. Zero beat you. Is it all worth it? Is the pain and anguish worth it?
John takes his hand and slowly runs it over top a large scar on his arm. He opens his eyes, then sits against the wall, bringing his knees to his chest. He rests his arms atop them, still pondering.
You're damn right it's worth it. And you better never forget that fact. Because it's all you have. This business... that title... it's your life. This is what you ARE, John. This is what the Steel City Icon is all about. This is why you can't move on. Wrestling flows through your veins like blood. You lose... you get up. You win... you get up. You continue... and the cycle never ends. It never WILL end... until IT's in your hands. So what the f*ck are you doing? Don't f*cking sit there.
John leans forward and begins doing a set of pushups. His arms shake as he continues to push...
That's right. Keep going John. Keep going. You'll never stop... you'll never quit. Not until the day that you f*cking die. Who's going to stop you? Chris Lehew? Dan Ryan? Kendall Codine? ZERO? Who John? Who is going to tell you you're not the best this business has to offer? Sampson? Powers? Gemini? Hellfighter? WHO? WHO wants this like you??? NOBODY! NO ONE!!! KEEP GOING MOTHER F*CKER!!! TILL YOUR ARMS FALL OFF YOUR F*CKING SHOULDERS!!!
John speeds up, his arms shaking violently. He performs pushup after pushup, never resting, never pausing.
They can't stop you. Zero or Lehew. Neither of them. They're consumed with each other. But you... the object of your desire... it's right there in your grasp. All you have to do is reach out and take it, John. Logan is tormented... haunted by Lehew. His passion lies in Lehew's destruction. Your's... that's a different story. It's so simple... isn't it? It's just a belt. It's just gold and leather. Or is it? Who's really worse off here, Miller? Zero, Lehew, or YOU?
John ceases his pushups, immediately stopping in the middle of one. He stands up, breathing heavily, his hands on his hips. John walks over and sits on the weight bench, looking down at the floorboards where he just was. His eyes narrow as he clenches his fists.
You can't stop now... you can't. Your father never would have. Your father would have rode your ass until that belt was around your very waist. He wouldn't have taken a breather. He never did. Even after all those days at the steel mill... after all the work... all the pain... he never stopped, did he? Until the day he died... until he couldn't do it anymore. You're father was the icon... your father WAS the steel city. And now... it's your turn.
John stands up slowly, walking over to the doorway. He flicks a switch on the wall, plunging the apartment into darkness. John exits through the door, not looking back.]
Fade to black.