Post by Brian Bruno on Apr 28, 2007 19:13:57 GMT -5
Fade in. A car – it’s sole occupant, Brian Bruno. Dressed in a long overcoat and a fedora, he waits, staring daggers into the camera. He grins that wicked grin, and opens his mouth to speak.
Bruno: The REBEL Carolinas Championship. It’s history is vacant, much like my desire to actually hold the championship itself. Several men have noted that I would rather hurt my opponents than win the title; they are correct. I don’t strive for acclaim, for victory. Titles are for those too weak-minded to see their own worth without something tangible to point to – not that I give a damn about them. Nor anyone, for that matter. I have a plan – winning the title is not a part of it, but strangely enough I find myself drawn to the idea of having a title to wave in the face of a certain “sexiest man on earth.”
My time is here. I’ve lurked in the shadows now for far too long, waiting to spring my plan into action. But all this time spent setting each piece of the puzzle into place has taken away a bit from my…fun.
An image of Bruno slamming a man into a dumpster flashes by in an instant, and then back to Bruno.
I’ve been calm, collected. Cultivating. Some of my opponents seem to think I’m a mindless drone merely hell-bent on non-stop violence. This is true. Violence is indeed my calling card. But when I need to be, I can be quite the strategist. I’ve kept “Andrew” running about in circles, chasing his tail in all his efforts to find me. I’ve set others upon him, and pitted him against old foes without his or their knowledge. Are these the actions of a mindless beast? I think not. Like Shakespeare’s ensign, I’ve manipulated all parties involved to achieve my end – though my fate is different. Failure exists nowhere in my future. Now that the die have been cast, it is I who shall reap the rewards. My enemies will suffer. And I’ll have my fun, indeed. (brutal smile)
Bruno removes the hat in a slow, deliberate motion and sets it down on the passenger seat.
But enough of that talk for now…what of my opponents this Tuesday? Surely, it wouldn’t be fair to leave them out of the party. There’s plenty of time for all of them to get a taste of the hot death I offer all who cross my path. Let’s take a look at these men, shall we?
Cataclysm. My first ever REBEL victim. My example to the roster, and to the world at large, of what I can do the human body. I left him a beaten, broken mess. And I took the special time out to teach his manager a lesson, that no man or beast gets the jump on a god. Do I fear the name Cataclysm this Tuesday? (laughs) I’ll carve my name in his face.
Clint Zellor. A former tag team champion in NAPW. Not to mention another resident of that accursed hellhole that spat out my arch nemesis. He’s beaten some top names – but has he ever faced a monster? Has he ever looked into the eyes of death itself, only to smile spit into it’s face? For I have, and I don’t fear Clint Zellor, oh NO, I do not. But before the final bell rings for him, he will have a brand new appreciation for that very word.
David Banks. If I were capable of liking a human, I might not hate David Banks. After all, he made Andrew tap out. Anyone who can cause him any pain and suffering can’t be entirely useless, after all. But there is one major problem I have with Banks. Andrew is MY target now. Anyone aligned against him, or with someone against him such as your tag team partner, will certainly not take my glory. My suggestion? End your feud with him, or simply put, I end you.
Murcielago. A mindless fool in way over his head. No sympathy for the stupid, child. If you come to the table where the men dine, you’d better have a damned good reason. You were thrust into this event because there was nowhere else to put you. If there’s anyone to blame for the untimely end of your career at my hands, it’d be the man who booked your doom, not me…not that I won’t enjoy it.
And then, the final competitor. Matthew Kurtis. I teamed with your brother once, Matt. He was a coward, much like you. You were the first I noticed to point out the fact that I have more interest in dealing out destruction than I do in climbing the ladder to grab the championship. For this, I’ll save the last – and worst – for you.
All this talk has bored me. For now, the next step of my plan takes place.
Bruno takes out the envelope – the same one he stole from the SB mansion – and yanks out the letter. He sniffs it – it smells like his wife. He smiles.
Bruno: Here I am, my dear…
Fade out.
Bruno: The REBEL Carolinas Championship. It’s history is vacant, much like my desire to actually hold the championship itself. Several men have noted that I would rather hurt my opponents than win the title; they are correct. I don’t strive for acclaim, for victory. Titles are for those too weak-minded to see their own worth without something tangible to point to – not that I give a damn about them. Nor anyone, for that matter. I have a plan – winning the title is not a part of it, but strangely enough I find myself drawn to the idea of having a title to wave in the face of a certain “sexiest man on earth.”
My time is here. I’ve lurked in the shadows now for far too long, waiting to spring my plan into action. But all this time spent setting each piece of the puzzle into place has taken away a bit from my…fun.
An image of Bruno slamming a man into a dumpster flashes by in an instant, and then back to Bruno.
I’ve been calm, collected. Cultivating. Some of my opponents seem to think I’m a mindless drone merely hell-bent on non-stop violence. This is true. Violence is indeed my calling card. But when I need to be, I can be quite the strategist. I’ve kept “Andrew” running about in circles, chasing his tail in all his efforts to find me. I’ve set others upon him, and pitted him against old foes without his or their knowledge. Are these the actions of a mindless beast? I think not. Like Shakespeare’s ensign, I’ve manipulated all parties involved to achieve my end – though my fate is different. Failure exists nowhere in my future. Now that the die have been cast, it is I who shall reap the rewards. My enemies will suffer. And I’ll have my fun, indeed. (brutal smile)
Bruno removes the hat in a slow, deliberate motion and sets it down on the passenger seat.
But enough of that talk for now…what of my opponents this Tuesday? Surely, it wouldn’t be fair to leave them out of the party. There’s plenty of time for all of them to get a taste of the hot death I offer all who cross my path. Let’s take a look at these men, shall we?
Cataclysm. My first ever REBEL victim. My example to the roster, and to the world at large, of what I can do the human body. I left him a beaten, broken mess. And I took the special time out to teach his manager a lesson, that no man or beast gets the jump on a god. Do I fear the name Cataclysm this Tuesday? (laughs) I’ll carve my name in his face.
Clint Zellor. A former tag team champion in NAPW. Not to mention another resident of that accursed hellhole that spat out my arch nemesis. He’s beaten some top names – but has he ever faced a monster? Has he ever looked into the eyes of death itself, only to smile spit into it’s face? For I have, and I don’t fear Clint Zellor, oh NO, I do not. But before the final bell rings for him, he will have a brand new appreciation for that very word.
David Banks. If I were capable of liking a human, I might not hate David Banks. After all, he made Andrew tap out. Anyone who can cause him any pain and suffering can’t be entirely useless, after all. But there is one major problem I have with Banks. Andrew is MY target now. Anyone aligned against him, or with someone against him such as your tag team partner, will certainly not take my glory. My suggestion? End your feud with him, or simply put, I end you.
Murcielago. A mindless fool in way over his head. No sympathy for the stupid, child. If you come to the table where the men dine, you’d better have a damned good reason. You were thrust into this event because there was nowhere else to put you. If there’s anyone to blame for the untimely end of your career at my hands, it’d be the man who booked your doom, not me…not that I won’t enjoy it.
And then, the final competitor. Matthew Kurtis. I teamed with your brother once, Matt. He was a coward, much like you. You were the first I noticed to point out the fact that I have more interest in dealing out destruction than I do in climbing the ladder to grab the championship. For this, I’ll save the last – and worst – for you.
All this talk has bored me. For now, the next step of my plan takes place.
Bruno takes out the envelope – the same one he stole from the SB mansion – and yanks out the letter. He sniffs it – it smells like his wife. He smiles.
Bruno: Here I am, my dear…
Fade out.