(FADEIN: Point Of View in front of a IGC backdrop.)
JASON MURRAY: People watched with disgust over what we did. They didn’t get it. They didn’t understand that two kids who grew up watching wrestling, but were troubled with the amount of fiction woven in the fabric of its consumption would want to bring a honesty to the profession we found lacking.
Truth is what you make of it.
We wanted our King Lear to bleed. We put the emphasis on performance art. Our bodies were the canvas. We told stories with an honesty this sport hasn’t seen since before wrestling first started selling out Madison Square Garden.
And nobody got it.
There’s an order that has to be followed in this business. You have to be packaged and sold. Your hair has to be just the right length. Men are groomed and kept like dolls. And somewhere beneath the lies, talent and athleticism matter. We broadcasted our truth from our backyards and thousands have watched online. But the dream now is changing the business as a whole. Becoming the biggest attraction in this sport and forcing companies and teams to play on our stage, within our rules.
ERIC BEACHY: There’s a generation of kids growing up who find the status quo boring! They see this sport hasn’t changed in years and they’re tuning out. We’re the music your kids download and share. They’re tired of cover bands and teenage idols. They want the truth. And we’ve come to set them free. We’re going to revolutionize this sport. We’re the weird little brother stealing barbies and corrupting their bodies and setting fire to their heads.
I’m a four-time All-state Football star from the state of Tennessee! Athletically I’m the most gifted man in this company by far. There’s nothing I can’t do in the ring. Period! And I know once Jayce and I leave the ring, every woman in Arkansas who’s ever dreamed of having something just a wee bit out of the norm in their lives are going to be in hotel lobby waiting.
BRONTE LAKES: Every second of our lives are recorded. Everybody wants to be famous for nothing. There’s a world out there waiting to consume waiting to be fed something they haven’t seen before, and that’s where my boys come into the play. They will become the greatest tag team this sport has ever seen, but in the process the reality they bring to the ring, the physicality they put forth will change this business forever and once the train has left the station there’s no backing up.
JASON MURRAY: Eric and I have been together for hundreds of matches. Most of them have been in our rings, and television on our youtube channel, but our reality isn’t any less real. We know each other better than we know ourselves, because we want to same thing out of life. We want our fifteen minutes of fame. We want video games to bear our likeness…
ERIC BEACHY: Triangle you have to ask yourself this question. What do you bring to the table? Why is it your turn to be famous? What do you have to distract millions from the realities of their own drab existence?
JASON MURRAY: The beauty is none of this matters, but it does. One day we will all lose everything we ever held dear in life. We’ll lose our friends, our family, and our youth. And then we’ll lose life itself. People need to believe in something extraordinary, they need an escape, a hope that there’s something more, a faint belief forcing them out of bed every day.
OOC: Deeply sorry about waiting until the end of the RP period to get this one... been battling some connection debacles. Since our internet's been shut off, the church we've been stealing WiFi off of has been hit or miss. Man, Christians suck. I also realize it's over the 1,500 word limit, but you can count this as two if you'd like. Or not count it at all... whatever suits you.
(CUE UP: “Raining Blood” by Slayer... the only goddamb song befit for this moment of grandeur.)
(The skies above Smallstown, U-S-of-A darken as stormclouds appear out of nowhere and blot out the sun. Thousands of miniature people seemingly going through their daily routines stand frozen in place as if paralyzed in fear while thunder rumbles in the distance like a deathknell. Suddenly, a dark shape descends from above like a funnel cloud of destruction, and to our unabashed horror, IT SPEAKS...)
MINIONS OF THE DOOMED PLANET EARTH... PULL YOUR HEADS OUT OF YOUR ASSES, AND HEAR THE VOICE OF YOUR SUPREME INTERGALACTIC EMPEROR!!
I CAME, SAW, AND CONQUERED THE EYE-GEE-SEE, AND BEHEADED THE FALSE KING THAT WAS PHIL ATKEN... AND NOW THE HOUR OF DEATH HAS COME FOR YOU ALL!! NOW THIS WRETCHED UNIVERSE BELONGS TO ME, MAGNUS DESTRUCTO... AND ALL THOSE WHO OPPOSE WILL SUFFER AT MY EVERLASTING REIGN OF CARNAGE!!
(Though still obscured in place, a clear view forms around the monstrous figure’s mid-section... where rests the INTERGALACTIC CHAMPIONSHIP.)
KNEEL BEFORE YOUR INTERGALACTIC CHAMPION... OR BE OBLITERATED LIKE ALL THE REST!!!
(The black shape of death drops to the center of the city and lands with devastating impact upon the first notes of the song’s introductory riff. A fast zoom in reveals MAGNUS DESTRUCTO, snarling at the camera from with a WAR-MACHINE OF DEATH... a literal sci-fi powersuit decked out with medieval gadgets of torture and destruction.)
(Without provocation, Magnus lets loose a salvo of destruction upon the city that coincides with the frenetic chaos of the trash metal anthem. Twin gattling guns perforate the plaster-and-cardboard miniature buildings into monuments of swiss cheese. Wrist-mounted flame-throwers scorch the little plastic people fleeing in the streets into incinerated oblivion. A volley of heat-seeking missiles fire out of launchers on his shoulders to take out a wave of toy military helicopters. A battalion of small tanks attempt to strike back, but their shots harmlessly bounce off of the Dreaded Devourer’s armor, and he crushes them with crazed delight by cutting a nearby building in half with a chainsaw and forcing the top part to topple upon his foes.)
(The rampage all at once comes to an abrupt end with a pop, a grind, and a whine within the motorized power-suit’s inner workings. Sparks and smoke begin bursting out of a panel along one side, and the machine grinds to a halt. Harnessed within, Destructo’s tyrannical ecstasy gives way to irate fury.)
...WHAT THE FUCK?!
(As any intelligent human being would do in such a situation as mechanical breakdown, the Intergalactic Champion reacts by cleverly assessing the situation with little to no thought and begins jerking stubbornly at the controls. His efforts only seem to be making matters worse as more grinding and sizzling can be heard emanating from the power-suit. It’s movements become jerky and stilted as the entire machine suffers from a systematic malfunction. Destructo’s eyes bulge with rage as he looks somewhere off camera.)
DULAK, YOU FOOL!! STOP PICKING AT YOUR ASSHOLE AND GIVE YOUR INTERGALACTIC EMPEROR A HAND!!
(The camera sweeps off to the right where we can spot DULAK THE DEFILER standing just off to the side of the soundstage, a remote control to the toy props in his hands. He quickly tosses the remote aside and rushes over to his master to give him aid, deftly ducking in time to have his hand taken off as Destructo wildly brings one of the arms whipping around in an effort to regain control.)
Dulak the Defiler
Master! It would be wise to abort!
FUCK YOU!! YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN ABORTED!! NOW HELP ME GET OUT OF THIS PIECE OF SHIT!!
(Dulak reaches into the chest unit and undoes one of the buckles keeping the Baron strapped in. Before he can get to the other one, Magnus unbuckles it himself in a rather annoyed act, and drops out of the machine’s body cavity while it’s still in the midst of mechanical convulsions. The loss of weight causes it to tilt over in a grave loss of balance... but Destructo walks away from that problem without a second thought, turning his attention to the camera as the whole elaborate and expensive machine comes down in a heap on top of Dulak.)
GODDAMN NORTH KOREAN TECHNOLOGY... FUCK IT, WHATEVER!! KEEP IT ROLLING!! I DON’T NEED SUPER AWESOME JAMES CAMERON BATTLE SUITS OF DESTRUCTION TO CUT A PROMO!! AFTER ALL, I’M THE INTERGALACTIC CHAMPION... MAGNUS FUCKING DESTRUCTO!! MY ENTIRE BODY IS LIKE TEN OF THOSE THINGS PUT TOGETHER!!
(The Dreaded Devourer pops his neck a couple times as he steps up to the camera, energetically seething in anger. His first act is to unstrap the Intergalactic Championship Title from around his waist and hold it up to the camera.)
HAVE A LOOK, YOU PATHETIC PISS-MONGERS!! I TOLD YOU ALL WHEN I CAME TO INTERGALACTIC CHAMPIONSHIP THAT THIS BELT WOULD INEVITABLY BE MINE... AND ALL BE GODDAMBED IF I DIDN’T LIVE UP TO THOSE CLAIMS!!
AND TO ALL THOSE THAT DARED DOUBT MY WRATH... TO ALL THOSE THAT CALLED ME A KNOCK-OFF, OR CALLED ME A PHONY... ALLOW ME TO EXTEND A GENUINE AND WHOLE-HEARTED FUCK YOU AND I TOLD YOU SO TO EACH AND EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!!
THIS BELT STANDS A TESTAMENT TO THE TWO SHITS I COULD GIVE ABOUT WHATEVER ANY OF YOU MIGHT THINK OF ME!! SAY WHATEVER YOU WANT, YOU WEAK, INSECURE ASS-TARDS... BECAUSE AT THE END OF THE DAY, THE ONE THING YOU CAN’T SAY IS THAT I’M ANYTHING BUT A MOTHERFUCKING CHAMPION!!
SO THE NEXT TIME ANY OF YOU JEALOUS AND INSECURE ASSWIPES OUT THERE GET AN IDEA TO SLANDER THE GORE-GALORIOUS ROYAL NAME OF DESTRUCTO... JUST REMEMBER THAT YOUR INTERGALACTIC EMPEROR IS ALWAYS LISTENING!! SAY THE WRONG THING AND PISS ME OFF IN ANY WAY, AND I CAN PROMISE YOU THAT THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES!! AND FUTURE GENERATIONS OF WEAKLINGS WILL SEE YOUR HEADS ON PIKES AS THEY COME TO THE RING TO REMIND THEM OF WHAT HAPPENS TO THOSE THAT BRAZENLY OFFEND THE COSMIC BARON OF THE INTERGALACTIC CHAMPIONSHIP!!
(Turning his gaze back to the camera, he slings the belt back over his shoulder, holding his arms out to the sides in overdramatic posturing.)
THE REIGN OF DARKNESS HAS AT LAST BEGUN... BUT THE DECAPITATION OF THE FALSE CHAMPION PHIL ATKEN WAS MERELY THE FIRST STEP IN A LONG AND DREADED MARCH TOWARD TOTAL CONQUEST!! EVEN AS THE INTERGALACTIC CHAMPION AND SUPREME RULER OF THE COSMOS, I’M STILL NOT SATISFIED!!
THE VORACIOUS HUNGER OF THE DREADED DEVOURER WILL ONLY BE SATIATED WITH THE KNOWLEDGE THAT ALL HAVE BEEN CONQUERED!! THAT INCLUDES THIS RIDICULOUS INTERGALACTIC TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP TROPHY!!
(Limping up into the shot is Dulak, having pulled himself out from the heavy shell of the powersuit that fell on top of him minutes ago. It’s actually remarkable he wasn’t crushed to death...)
Dulak the Defiler
Forgive me for questioning your illustrious motives, Dreaded Master... but wouldn’t it be wise to instead focus your efforts on preparing for the upcoming challengers to your title, rather than dividing your strength pursuing two different goals?
(The Baron of Brutality understandably answers this question by back-handing Dulak out of the shot, turning his rage back to the camera without so much as blinking.)
Magnus Destructo NONE MAY STAND EQUAL TO THE SUPREME INTERGALACTIC EMPEROR, WHETHER IT BE ONE MAN, A WHOLE TEAM, OR A WHOLE GODDAMB ARMY!! THAT TROPHY WILL BE MINE!!
AND SO IT WILL BE IN THAT SHITSPLAT CITY OF HOT SPRINGS, ARKANSAS, WITH GAGGLES OF TOOTHLESS, INBRED FUCKS IN ATTENDANCE, MY GLORIOUS TRIANGLE OF TERROR WILL LAY SIEGE AGAINST ANY AND ALL OPPOSITION... BEGINNING WITH UNLUCKY MAGGOTS WHO CALL THEMSELVES POINT OF VIEW!!
(Destructo’s monologue is broken up as a hulking figure shambles into the frame, wedged quite awkwardly into a foam monster suit that seems to be a bastardized Alien Queen and Ghidra. The giant monster, who would have clearly been in something of a battle with the Baron in is power-suit had it not early fizzled out, approaches in a menacing stance, but Destructo gives him an obvious look that he’s not fucking around.)
DAMNIT, GOLLOMOCH!! OBVIOUSLY SINCE THE SUIT FUCKED UP ON US, THE ELABORATE FIGHT SEQUENCE HAS BEEN CANCELLED!!
(The person in the monster suit pulls off the head-piece. Though his famed girth is covered up by the costume, the goggles, menacing respirator mask, and goggles easily identify the servant GOLLOMOCH.)
My humble apologies, sire. I was quite looking forward to my performance.
FUCK YOUR PERFORMANCE!! FAT PEOPLE NEVER WIN OSCARS!! JUST WORRY ABOUT BEING READY FOR THE MATCH... AND TRY NOT TO FALL ASLEEP AFTER THE FIRST POWERBOMB THIS TIME!!
By your will, sire. I will return to the Coliseum of Carnage to further prepare myself.
(Gollomach waddles out of the frame, unable to move right due to the awkward outfit. Alone again, Destructo turns his attention back to the camera.)
POINT OF VIEW... LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT... ARE YOU FUCKERS ACTUALLY SUGGESTING I ASK MYSELF WHAT I CAN BRING TO THE TABLE?!
(Slaps the belt on his shoulder, as if it wasn’t obvious enough.)
AS FAR AS I’M CONCERNED, THAT SHIT’S ALREADY BEEN BROUGHT!!
MAYBE YOU SHOULD BE ASKING YOURSELVES THE SAME QUESTION, SINCE NONE OF YOU SEEM TO BE CAPABLE OF SAYING ANYTHING TO IMPRESS ME!! BETTER YET, MAYBE YOU SHOULD BE ASKING YOURSELVES WHY YOU’RE TOO FUCKING STUPID TO KNOW JUST WHO AND WHAT YOU’RE UP AGAINST!!
FUCK YOUR REALITY... FUCK YOUR HUNDREDS OF MATCHES AND SUPERIOR ATHLETICISM!! DON’T BE FOOLED INTO THINKING THAT JUST BECAUSE THE REST OF THE WORLD SEES ME AS A CLOWN THAT JUST YELLS AND SCREAMS AT THE CAMERA A WHOLE BUNCH THAT I WON’T JUST AS EASILY WALK INTO THAT RING AND CRUSH YOUR FACE IN WITH THE HEEL OF MY BOOT!!
WHETHER YOU FEAR ME, OR WHETHER YOU SCOFF AT ME, I WILL ALWAYS BE A RELENTLESS FORCE IN THAT RING... A BUZZSAW OF FLESH, DEATH, AND DOOM THE LIKES OF WHICH NONE OF YOU HAVE EVER EXPERIENCED BEFORE!!
PAT YOURSELVES ON THE BACKS WHILE YOU STILL CAN... BEFORE I BREAK THEM OVER MY GODDAMB KNEE!!
(Continuing to bellow laughter like an insane tyrant, Magnus Destructo turns from the camera and walks with intensity to the far end of the sound stage, pushing over another miniature building with his bare hands, and guffawing once again in triumph. The camera slowly fades to black.)
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