Comfortably Numb
FADE IN...
Bryan Storms, MCW World Champion, stands in front of an MCW Center Stage banner backstage at the MCW Arena. He is casually dressed, wearing jeans and an untucked blue and white button-down shirt. A pair of tinted blue sunglasses peek out of his shirt pocket, but the most noticable accessory to the ensemble rests on his right shoulder; the MCW World Heavyweight Championship belt, the gold on its front glimmering underneath the hard white lighting above.
STORMS: Well kids, it's good to be back. Of course, since you've all seen me last, I've gained a little weight. About 17 pounds of gold fixed onto a leather strap, to be precise.
But it wasn't easy to pick up my new best friend here. No, I had to go through the greatest in-ring battle of my life to get this, and I had to beat one of the finest competitors this or any other wrestling organization could ever hope to have under contract.
That's right, Chris McMillan, I'm talking about you. You put me through hell at Zero Hour, just like you promised you would. We beat each other all over that Staples Center ring, back and forth for as long as we could last. You ended up with an injured knee, I scored 14 stitches in my forehead and a separated shoulder. But, in the end, just like I swore I would, I was able to last just three more seconds than you were, and I walked out of the building with the MCW World Championship strapped around my waist.
But Chris, I'm, if nothing else, a man of honor. You put me through a fight with another man like nothing I've experienced before, and if you want another shot at me, title on the line, you'll get it without any protest from me. But, don't think that the second, third, fourth, fifth or thousandth time will be the charm for you, McMillan. I may have given up many of my baser instincts, but I can still be a bit, er, possessive about certain things, and I will lay down my life before I let another man get his hands on MY MCW World Heavyweight title.
But that's enough about past opponents for now. You see, while I was away getting treatment for the aftermath of Zero Hour, I got a call saying I was booked to face John Doe, non-title, at the next edition of Center Stage. You want to know, John, what I thought when I heard that message?
Happy birthday to me.
Now, I avoided the cake, the candles and the presents I don't want, but I celebrated, John, because I relish the chance to show the world why I am a deserving holder of this prestigious championship. And what better man to do that against than a man who time and time again I have shown to be willing to go just that little bit further against.
For my entire professional career, you've been a thorn in my side, John. You've followed me around, sticking like a scab you badly want to rid yourself of. Each time, you make your claims of being a wrestling god, of being the face of a company, of being the baddest man around. But every single time we get in the ring, all I see is a man who doesn't have the heart to back up a single thing he says.
All I see is a man who, when it all comes down to it, doesn't have what it takes to be the man he claims to be. Each time you and I have faced each other John, one-on-one, you've fallen. This time, the song will be exactly the same. You'll come to the ring, with your self-hype and your bravado, and you'll be chopped straight to the ground, just as you always have been.
So bring your self-aggrandizing propaganda machine to the ring at Center Stage, John. Make all the claims you want about how this title should be yours and nobody else's. I'll bring the real goods; my wrestling skills, and this World Championship that signifies right here, right now, I bear the standard for Major Championship Wrestling. At least, in the minds of everyone but you, and apparently Rob Franklin. Both of you will quickly learn the truth.
See you at Center Stage, John. I'm waiting.
...FADE TO BLACK
