Post by adm on Jun 25, 2011 20:52:56 GMT -6
All things are subject to interpretation whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth. - Friederich Nietzsche
The streets have no name. The faces in the crowd are nothing more than a sea of faces, plastic like the masks they show off to the world. One man wanders the streets with his head facing straight ahead, yet there is much trouble in the wells of water he calls eyes. Kristoff Liam Bates strolls down the busy streets of London, alone. He is more alone in this crowd of people than in a gym by himself, more alone than in a hotel room without a partner. More alone than standing outside his former house realizing his whole life has changed in the short time he's been in nCw, since 2009. He was gone a year, set out to reclaim his place which he lost, and began to train like a madman just to regain the physical strength he once had. However, it doesn't cure the loneliness, it doesn't cure the ponderances a man makes when he walks through a crowded street one day before the biggest match of his return to date.
He brushes shoulders with men and women alike, not caring who he meets, who he bumps into. He is in his own little world, almost. The dusty jean jacket he wears matches the frayed jeans. He is a different man in this getup than in the suit and tie he wears normally, or the modified suit he wears to the ring. He looks like a rockstar, out of place in the streets of London. He looks like a younger version of Billy Corgan, with messy brown hair and grunge-like style. He doesn't care for the fashion he usually wears, but due to his old occupation, it's become habit. Seven years as a middle-manager in an IT company tends to do that to you. A small desk, cubicle instead of a cushy office, and just enough idiots below him to keep him from suicidal thoughts. But that was years ago, and now he's back in the one place he truly has been able to call home.
"I'd listen to the words he'd say. But in his voice I heard decay. The plastic face forced to portray. All the insides, left cold and gray. There is a place that still remains. It eats the fear, it eats the pain. The sweetest price you'll have to pay. The day the whole world went away."
The lyrics from his mouth match the simple black t-shirt with a gun firing a cross stitched into the center. Kristoff Liam Bates hums the rest of the song to himself, not even caring about the stares from the people on the streets.
Hours later, Bates is in his hotel room, with a cold glass of Whiskey sitting on the nightstand. He looks at the glass and then at the camera. His clothes are still the same grunge-inspired attire he was wearing on the street before. His eyes are still sullen and grayed by the thoughts running through his mind over and over. The thoughts about the "what if?" of tomorrow night.
"Look into my eyes. What do you see? Do you see strength? Weakness? Fear? Intensity? What do you see? To me, I see a man on the edge of what he used to be, and what he can become. I see the man I was, both adept at technical wrestling and using weapons to get my way. I took Adam Knite in one of the best technical matches of 2009, only to lose. I took Angel and Phillip Burns to their limit in a Death Cage, bloodied and battered. I have both on my resume, not just one like has been suggested by the idiotic fresh sheep to this place. You see, Bob, I understand where you are coming from. I respect you as well, you are one of the few intelligent ones out there. But have you ever stared into the abyss and wondered, doe it stare back? I have lived my year away from this place like that. I have stared into the abyss of "What if?" and beat myself up for leaving this place, for giving up. I lost my family to get where I was, only to throw it all away because of one humiliation. I hate to say it, but the current Honor Champion, a man I have a win over, Spike Kane, has come back from worse humiliations and even STAYED despite worse than I faced. I mean, he found out Brad Kane, AKA Reckless Jack is his twin brother...that is ****ing humiliating."
Bates chuckles to himself at the joke he just made. The mile and brightness in his eyes fades quickly, like wind blowing out a candle.
"But you understand, existentially, where my problem of this match really lies, don't you, Bob? I don't feel I have, or anyone IN this match has earned this shot. It's basically a hand-out for four low-teir lowlifes to get a shot at some low-stakes gold. Why bother giving the shot to someone who has worked for a few months here to make their own name. They just want to shove another fresh green face, or presumed washed-up hack at the almighty Spike Kane to feed his enormous ego so he can hold onto a meaningless title for just a little while longer. That is, of course, if he can beat the man we beat last week, with no help from Sexy Jason and his lack of intelligence.
You have it right, Bob, pegging Joe as the underdog, Webb as a loud-mouth you've destroyed. I don't know him, but he seems to be blowing far more steam than he's letting off. His one training montage seemed forced, like it didn't fit him. I've been doing this since the beginning. I USED to have my own gym in the attic of my house. Plastered with inspirational posters of my idol, IRS. Yes, I wanted to be the tax-man when I first arrived, to be that feared suit-and-tie face that also was a master of all ring technicality, psychology, and even weapons if need be. I was all-around one of the best here, and could still be, but as you said, I haven't even been given a true test of my mettle yet. You're right, and this is my test, isn't it, Bob? This is where we, tag partners for the last two weeks plus, have to stare at each other and two other souls, and figure out who has the guts and the drive to win and get the shot at the Honor Championship at Picture Perfect."
He takes a long look at the glass of whiskey, before taking a slow sip of the alcohol. His eyes do not glaze over, his body does not shiver, he takes it like a man and doesn't flinch. But taking strong liquor doesn't prove anything in the ring, and Bates knows it.
"Joe Everyman, you have your dates wrong. I was gone one year, not two. You also forgot to mention the fact that right before I was disgraced, I lost my wife and kids to divorce and have not seen or heard much from them since. My then-girlfriend left me to be with her children. I was left alone and cold. Much like the "spider" wishes to call himself. He wishes to be cold, like a Marine. Well, if you recall, it was the Seals that took out Osama Bin Laden, Marines are just big sissies with a big reputation. Join the Seals, then you'll be a REAL hardcore badass. Not like I have any military training, but you don't need that here. it's usually a bit against you, you know, war flashbacks and shellshock. But that's neither here nor there.
Joe, don't I have wins over you? Don't you have wins over me? Aren't we done with this dance of "Who can outperform on this week?" I'm tired of even seeing you, and I haven't faced you in so long I can't even recall. But you are nothing more than a stepping stone for just about every champion here, yet you've had your own share of titles and accolades and major wins. I mean, you almost won that World Title ladder match when Trent became champion, oh-so-long ago. You still have that drive, but you get distracted by your comparisons of opponents to sandwiches. It's like I told you before, and I told Webb, you'll be sunny-side up when I'm done cooking you. Bad pun or not, if I actually compared you to the average men you are, unable to overcome yourselves and become Overmen, you'd get confused and think I was comparing you to Nazis, much like just about everyone else who has read Friederich Nietzsche's work. So maybe I should tell you, Sartre is smarter, but Camus can do. So why don't you become another Myth of Sisyphus, Joe, keep rolling that boulder up the hill. You'll never win. You just keep trying, Mr. Everyman. Keep going and you'll EVENTUALLY realize it's a futile quest, and be happy with yourself on the way back down to roll it up again."
Bates rolls his head back and laughs. A jolly, yet disturbing laugh. The fire in his eyes articulates itself even moreso now.
"You see, Both Gardener and Spike Kane have had losses to myself, so whoever wins their match, already knows what it's like to lose to me. I already have a psychological edge. And Webb, what do you have? You have no boulder like Joe, what you have is a web of deceit and lies. The only thing you truly have, is a great personality for a politician. You have your little imaginary friend I have been missing, and then you go to train, like it's something you normally do...
But I'm sure you don't.
In the end, what is it that you have? A cool name and a cool gimmick, that's all. I don't really have a cool name, most people can't even pronounce my first name right. I have a very un-cool gimmick, I'm just some nerd, like you called me, who is trying to be a jock. Though, if you ever have watched the Vlogs Raven has been posting on his Youtube, you'll realize he's just a nerd too. Hell, even the lead singer of Cannibal Corpse, great band, by the way, plays World of Warcraft. For the Horde, is right. And you, my friend, are just another Paladin fighting for the alliance, lying to yourself that you are better than everyone else, without even trying to come close to having a relevant thing to say. Spiders are meant to be crushed, Nate, I hope you realize that."
Again, Bates laughs. He feels at ease, as he takes another drink of the whiskey to calm his nerves and clear his mind.
"I'm not saying I will win, outright. I'm not going to claim I have my leg up on any of you as much as it may seem I have been. In the end, Pooler is right, anyone CAN win. It's just more likely that I do against two of you. The third, Bob Pooler, you are my nemesis. In the end, we would have had one hell of a showcase of technical prowess if we were one-on-one. We will one day get that, I'm sure, but for now, it's cluttered by the two faces in the other corners of the ring. I have had the drive to turn my twenty pounds of gained fat into muscle. My body is in better physical shape than when I left, well, almost. I spend more time in the gym than anywhere else. I worked hard to get back here, and I'm not just going to let my first major match at a Pay Per View be a complete failure. If I lose, so be it, but I will do my damndest to win no matter what. I have beaten big names in my past, and I feel I have enough in me to at least beat the three of you this week.
I can't promise a win, but what I can promise, is that win or lose, I'll make you all...SHUT UP!"
Life begins on the other side of despair. - Jean Paul Sartre
The streets have no name. The faces in the crowd are nothing more than a sea of faces, plastic like the masks they show off to the world. One man wanders the streets with his head facing straight ahead, yet there is much trouble in the wells of water he calls eyes. Kristoff Liam Bates strolls down the busy streets of London, alone. He is more alone in this crowd of people than in a gym by himself, more alone than in a hotel room without a partner. More alone than standing outside his former house realizing his whole life has changed in the short time he's been in nCw, since 2009. He was gone a year, set out to reclaim his place which he lost, and began to train like a madman just to regain the physical strength he once had. However, it doesn't cure the loneliness, it doesn't cure the ponderances a man makes when he walks through a crowded street one day before the biggest match of his return to date.
He brushes shoulders with men and women alike, not caring who he meets, who he bumps into. He is in his own little world, almost. The dusty jean jacket he wears matches the frayed jeans. He is a different man in this getup than in the suit and tie he wears normally, or the modified suit he wears to the ring. He looks like a rockstar, out of place in the streets of London. He looks like a younger version of Billy Corgan, with messy brown hair and grunge-like style. He doesn't care for the fashion he usually wears, but due to his old occupation, it's become habit. Seven years as a middle-manager in an IT company tends to do that to you. A small desk, cubicle instead of a cushy office, and just enough idiots below him to keep him from suicidal thoughts. But that was years ago, and now he's back in the one place he truly has been able to call home.
"I'd listen to the words he'd say. But in his voice I heard decay. The plastic face forced to portray. All the insides, left cold and gray. There is a place that still remains. It eats the fear, it eats the pain. The sweetest price you'll have to pay. The day the whole world went away."
The lyrics from his mouth match the simple black t-shirt with a gun firing a cross stitched into the center. Kristoff Liam Bates hums the rest of the song to himself, not even caring about the stares from the people on the streets.
Hours later, Bates is in his hotel room, with a cold glass of Whiskey sitting on the nightstand. He looks at the glass and then at the camera. His clothes are still the same grunge-inspired attire he was wearing on the street before. His eyes are still sullen and grayed by the thoughts running through his mind over and over. The thoughts about the "what if?" of tomorrow night.
"Look into my eyes. What do you see? Do you see strength? Weakness? Fear? Intensity? What do you see? To me, I see a man on the edge of what he used to be, and what he can become. I see the man I was, both adept at technical wrestling and using weapons to get my way. I took Adam Knite in one of the best technical matches of 2009, only to lose. I took Angel and Phillip Burns to their limit in a Death Cage, bloodied and battered. I have both on my resume, not just one like has been suggested by the idiotic fresh sheep to this place. You see, Bob, I understand where you are coming from. I respect you as well, you are one of the few intelligent ones out there. But have you ever stared into the abyss and wondered, doe it stare back? I have lived my year away from this place like that. I have stared into the abyss of "What if?" and beat myself up for leaving this place, for giving up. I lost my family to get where I was, only to throw it all away because of one humiliation. I hate to say it, but the current Honor Champion, a man I have a win over, Spike Kane, has come back from worse humiliations and even STAYED despite worse than I faced. I mean, he found out Brad Kane, AKA Reckless Jack is his twin brother...that is ****ing humiliating."
Bates chuckles to himself at the joke he just made. The mile and brightness in his eyes fades quickly, like wind blowing out a candle.
"But you understand, existentially, where my problem of this match really lies, don't you, Bob? I don't feel I have, or anyone IN this match has earned this shot. It's basically a hand-out for four low-teir lowlifes to get a shot at some low-stakes gold. Why bother giving the shot to someone who has worked for a few months here to make their own name. They just want to shove another fresh green face, or presumed washed-up hack at the almighty Spike Kane to feed his enormous ego so he can hold onto a meaningless title for just a little while longer. That is, of course, if he can beat the man we beat last week, with no help from Sexy Jason and his lack of intelligence.
You have it right, Bob, pegging Joe as the underdog, Webb as a loud-mouth you've destroyed. I don't know him, but he seems to be blowing far more steam than he's letting off. His one training montage seemed forced, like it didn't fit him. I've been doing this since the beginning. I USED to have my own gym in the attic of my house. Plastered with inspirational posters of my idol, IRS. Yes, I wanted to be the tax-man when I first arrived, to be that feared suit-and-tie face that also was a master of all ring technicality, psychology, and even weapons if need be. I was all-around one of the best here, and could still be, but as you said, I haven't even been given a true test of my mettle yet. You're right, and this is my test, isn't it, Bob? This is where we, tag partners for the last two weeks plus, have to stare at each other and two other souls, and figure out who has the guts and the drive to win and get the shot at the Honor Championship at Picture Perfect."
He takes a long look at the glass of whiskey, before taking a slow sip of the alcohol. His eyes do not glaze over, his body does not shiver, he takes it like a man and doesn't flinch. But taking strong liquor doesn't prove anything in the ring, and Bates knows it.
"Joe Everyman, you have your dates wrong. I was gone one year, not two. You also forgot to mention the fact that right before I was disgraced, I lost my wife and kids to divorce and have not seen or heard much from them since. My then-girlfriend left me to be with her children. I was left alone and cold. Much like the "spider" wishes to call himself. He wishes to be cold, like a Marine. Well, if you recall, it was the Seals that took out Osama Bin Laden, Marines are just big sissies with a big reputation. Join the Seals, then you'll be a REAL hardcore badass. Not like I have any military training, but you don't need that here. it's usually a bit against you, you know, war flashbacks and shellshock. But that's neither here nor there.
Joe, don't I have wins over you? Don't you have wins over me? Aren't we done with this dance of "Who can outperform on this week?" I'm tired of even seeing you, and I haven't faced you in so long I can't even recall. But you are nothing more than a stepping stone for just about every champion here, yet you've had your own share of titles and accolades and major wins. I mean, you almost won that World Title ladder match when Trent became champion, oh-so-long ago. You still have that drive, but you get distracted by your comparisons of opponents to sandwiches. It's like I told you before, and I told Webb, you'll be sunny-side up when I'm done cooking you. Bad pun or not, if I actually compared you to the average men you are, unable to overcome yourselves and become Overmen, you'd get confused and think I was comparing you to Nazis, much like just about everyone else who has read Friederich Nietzsche's work. So maybe I should tell you, Sartre is smarter, but Camus can do. So why don't you become another Myth of Sisyphus, Joe, keep rolling that boulder up the hill. You'll never win. You just keep trying, Mr. Everyman. Keep going and you'll EVENTUALLY realize it's a futile quest, and be happy with yourself on the way back down to roll it up again."
Bates rolls his head back and laughs. A jolly, yet disturbing laugh. The fire in his eyes articulates itself even moreso now.
"You see, Both Gardener and Spike Kane have had losses to myself, so whoever wins their match, already knows what it's like to lose to me. I already have a psychological edge. And Webb, what do you have? You have no boulder like Joe, what you have is a web of deceit and lies. The only thing you truly have, is a great personality for a politician. You have your little imaginary friend I have been missing, and then you go to train, like it's something you normally do...
But I'm sure you don't.
In the end, what is it that you have? A cool name and a cool gimmick, that's all. I don't really have a cool name, most people can't even pronounce my first name right. I have a very un-cool gimmick, I'm just some nerd, like you called me, who is trying to be a jock. Though, if you ever have watched the Vlogs Raven has been posting on his Youtube, you'll realize he's just a nerd too. Hell, even the lead singer of Cannibal Corpse, great band, by the way, plays World of Warcraft. For the Horde, is right. And you, my friend, are just another Paladin fighting for the alliance, lying to yourself that you are better than everyone else, without even trying to come close to having a relevant thing to say. Spiders are meant to be crushed, Nate, I hope you realize that."
Again, Bates laughs. He feels at ease, as he takes another drink of the whiskey to calm his nerves and clear his mind.
"I'm not saying I will win, outright. I'm not going to claim I have my leg up on any of you as much as it may seem I have been. In the end, Pooler is right, anyone CAN win. It's just more likely that I do against two of you. The third, Bob Pooler, you are my nemesis. In the end, we would have had one hell of a showcase of technical prowess if we were one-on-one. We will one day get that, I'm sure, but for now, it's cluttered by the two faces in the other corners of the ring. I have had the drive to turn my twenty pounds of gained fat into muscle. My body is in better physical shape than when I left, well, almost. I spend more time in the gym than anywhere else. I worked hard to get back here, and I'm not just going to let my first major match at a Pay Per View be a complete failure. If I lose, so be it, but I will do my damndest to win no matter what. I have beaten big names in my past, and I feel I have enough in me to at least beat the three of you this week.
I can't promise a win, but what I can promise, is that win or lose, I'll make you all...SHUT UP!"
Life begins on the other side of despair. - Jean Paul Sartre