Post by Scott Wilson on Nov 6, 2013 17:04:28 GMT -5
Dreams of an Absolution IV
Page:DILLIGAF|Chapter:Deceit
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"The hideous lonely emptiness of existence, nothingness, the predicament of man forced to live in a barren, godless eternity, like a tiny flame flickering in an immense void, with nothing but waste, horror, and degradation, forming a useless bleak straitjacket in a black absurd cosmos."
-----
It shouldn't have come off as a surprise to anyone. It was already well known that I had absolutely zero respect for Isis Derrida. He walks around backstage as if he were something of value. He actually allowed himself to believe that he was an actual World Champion. But therein lies my greatest advantage; while he is off in la la land, deluding himself and all of the FWA fans into believing he is a real champion, I have manipulating the poor soul into getting exactly what I wanted.
Even before Rumble Bash, even before all the championship fame and glory, I wanted to prove to Isis that he was not as good as he hyped himself up to be. He speaks of 'Enlightenment', he speaks of imparting knowledge to those he need it. But what have you really enlightened anyone about? Now that you are supposedly the face of FWA, what have you done to back that up? Nothing impressive from the looks of it.
Whether you would like to admit it or not, you're not over losing to Dante at Mayhem #4. If anything, you're far from being over it. You want another chance to restore honor back to 'your world'. But the key distinction between your world and the real world is your world only revolves around what if's, could have's, and maybe's. And since you have loitered in your world long enough to make yourself feel halfway decent, when you step into my world and face the realization that you are just simply out matched; then, and only then, will you yourself be truly enlightened.
I am here to liberate you from the self made prison that you have built around you. I am here to guide through the actuality of this world we inhabit. I will help you in the only way I know how; with pain. I will force you to face the realization that you aren't ready to be the face of FWA. You just aren't up to that par yet. But when you do reach that high point in your career, come find me so that I may remind you of our soon to be storied past.
-----
Mayhem #4; Before Dante v Isis
Alignment
The scene comes alive with a visual image of Scott Wilson in his dressing room located at the backstage area of the Memorial Arena. He is seen putting on a druids wardrobe and puts the hood on to his head. He tops it off by sitting down in a steel folding chair and lacing up his wrestling boots. He is all prepared, when suddenly he hears a knock on the door. He rises from his seated position and walks over to the door. He turns the doorknob and opens the door. In walks Dante, clad in his wrestling attire with his eldritch red mask on his face.
Scott steps aside and allows his master room to enter his dressing room. Dante slowly steps into the room, his boots thumping against the carpet with every step he takes. Scott closes the door and turns to face Dante.
Hello Scott. I came here to make sure everything is in order. I want no mistakes out there, or there will be severe consequences to pay.
I assure you Dante, I have everything planned out. I plan on getting retribution on the poor soul Isis for casting me aside.
Hmm. I would like for you to run me through your plans once more.
Well, Valquist is bound to interfere in the match. When he does, I'll put him out of his misery and then proceed to Isis. Then you strike and we have ourselves a victory.
Okay. But this is important. You need to stay hidden. The world cannot know the identities of you four. At least not at this point in time. But I need to head on off. And remember, I want no fuck ups out there tonight.
Yes Master...
And with that, the short dialogue ends between the two and Dante walks past Wilson on his way to exit the room. The sound of a door opening and closing is heard and the scene slowly fades to black.
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Page:Still DGAF|Chapter:Alignment II
Ever since I revealed myself as a follower of Dante's, everyone from the FWA jobbers to people who don't even watch Mayhem habitually have been questioning my motives. Questioning my actions. 'Why do you follow in Dante's footsteps' is the most common question. Well, I could sit here and spout how I longed for success or how Dante strikes fear into my heart. I could spout my hatred for Isis until the cows come home, or whatever else comes to mind. But truthfully, I sided with Dante mainly because Dante is where everyone's attention is at, and I am a person who craves attention.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I am using Dante for my own personal gain. I would never call another person 'master' or do their bidding unconditionally without there being a purpose to it. And a lot of people seem to not understand that. They only see the external part, but never dare delve deeper. Early, I spoke of using Isis to get what my heart truly desired. And if are truly empty minded, then I can simply say that I want the FWA Championship. Everyone wants a shot at the FWA championship. Dante, Priest, Rayne Young and a flurry of other unworthy lambs. Unworthy lambs to be slaughtered on the altar of our future.
Undoubtedly, Isis spoke upon my alignment. Like everyone else who didn't understand my reasoning, Isis made false accusations and invalid arguments. He can pity me if he feels it is necessary. But if my memory recalls, Isis never even wanted to step into the ring with me for a match. Title match or not, he was afraid of stepping into the ring and proving himself against someone of worth. Isis Derrida has made a career of fighting people who are weaker than him. Isis thinks its cool to rack up some wins against people who don’t stand a chance.
And what happens as soon as he faces real competition? He fails. It's ironic. I pity Isis just for the simple fact that now that he is our company face, all he will face is real competition. Such as myself, Dante, and many others. Oh what a sad day for Isis Derrida.
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Mayhem #4;After Isis v Dante
Mistakes
Mayhem was over and done with. Everyone witnessed Dante and Scott Wilson lay waste to both Priest and Isis Derrida. Everyone was packing up their belongings and leaving the arena. All except Scott and Dante. The two were waaay deep in the bowels of the arena. The scene opens up to the sound of dripping water. In front of the camera are rusted pipes with spider webs beautifully drawn onto them. The camera changes it focus to the seated Scott Wilson in the background. He is still in his robes from earlier in the evening. The camera slowly pans over to capture the full scene. Dante stands over the seated Wilson, a look of anger in his eyes, which hide behind his eldritch mask.
What the hell happened out there, Scott? I thought I told you not to reveal yourself out there. You deliberately disobeyed my orders.
If I may sir... Once I hit Valquist with my signature move, it was all but obvious who I could have been. There was no point in hiding my identity any longer. Think of it this way. We already know you strike fear into a majority of the roster. Now that I am aligned with you, they know not to mess with me. Plus, there is still the three others that are unidentified. What harm did it cause?
... I suppose you're right. But I stay true to my word. You are barred from tonight's meeting. I suggest you think about what you have done. Come now, we're leaving.
Scott watches Dante turn around and exit the mysterious room. Scott rises to his feet as well and follows in Dante's steps. The sound of a door opening and closing. The scene fades to dark as the light in the room dimmers even more.
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Page:Still DGAF|Chapter:Mistakes II
As a child, I never quite understood the idea that history was written by the winners. Surely history exists in and of itself and those who write about it are merely reporting their observations, surely history is nothing more than a statement of facts. How could you possibly add a personal spin to events that have already happened? The innocence of youth allows you to have faith in the human condition, it allows you to believe that you can trust those trying to teach you, that the facts and values they wish to instill into you are indeed true facts and just values.
As you begin to grow older though, as that hair begins to grow from every little crevice in your body, you start to begin to question those facts. You watch the television and you watch the political class bickering about the mundane and the miniscule as more people stand on the employment line. You begin to question why you should trust authority, why you should believe that these self-serving maniacs are looking after your best interests as they continue to pocket countless campaign “contributions” from those who wish to add more homeless to our streets. It certainly makes you wonder about the convictions of the men who wish to pursue that career, I'm sure you'll agree.
I can't discredit Isis. He is our world champion and that was something Dante couldn't even do. Does it matter that he lost to Dante the following week or that he disingenuously denied a challenge from me? Yes it does, but the fact of the matter is Isis is our world champion, and I will give him his little bit of credit. Don't get me wrong, my hatred for the kid is still there. But he bested everyone who attempted to have a chance at where he is today. He even bested me, even if he wasn't the one to eliminate me.
Hell, I wouldn't even have a problem with Isis if it weren't for the simple fact that he believes he is better than me. He treats me with such disrespect that it is enough to fuel my hatred for him for many more years to come. He completely disregards me and makes small attempts and jabs at my pride that I just can't help but hate him. It wasn't the path I had originally planned on taking, but things change. I remember when FWA had its first Mayhem. Boy, have things changed.
Everyone may not agree with the choices I have made. They may have already hated me for what I did to 'The Most Loved Fraud In The World' Leviticus. But all in all, it's who I am. Can I really help what I do in that ring? I am sure we have all heard the saying it is best to be hated for what you are then to be loved for what you aren't. And I am a clear representation of that. Is it my fault that Isis is so insecure that he allows the crowd to boost his head up into thinking that he is some enlightening saint, sent to make FWA a better place?
The answer is no. It is not in my control what Isis is. As far as I am concerned, he can be as insecure as he sees fit.
-----
The scene fades in through the lens of a jostling camera, the image bouncing up and down and side-to-side as someone fiddles with it from off-screen. The camera finally clicks into place - presumably atop a tripod, or some other fixed docking point - and we finally get a clear look at where the camera is located.
It's a basement or sub cellar of some kind. The walls and floor - what can be seen of them, anyway - are thick, exposed concrete, and the ceiling appears to be composed of barebones woodwork, interlaced with pipes and cables. The only light comes from a dangling bulb with a pull chain attached to it; its filament occasionally flickers and flares, casting strange shadows on the floor and walls, all of which run away from the camera and back into the encroaching darkness.
Directly in front of the camera sits a wooden table, upon which sets a fully set-up chessboard. The pieces, both black and white, have all been placed in their pre-match positions with what appears to be meticulous precision, and two chairs sit on opposite sides of the table, waiting for the players to make use of them.
Another moment passes, and the individual who was messing with the camera at fade-in suddenly walks past, circling around the table and standing behind it, facing the camera. He is, as one would suspect from his surroundings, none other than Scott Wilson, decked out in his usual dress of a black aviator's jacket, black cargo pants, and black combat boots. He looks into the camera for a moment, arms folded over his chest, and then lowers his gaze down to the board.
Chess...
This is a momentous occasion indeed – Scott Wilson's first words, spoken from behind his mask for all of the FWA to hear. His voice is heavily distorted, made deeper and broader by a device hidden within the mask, but there is an unmistakable aura of dignity emanating from it. He returns his eyes to the camera and holds out a hand, palm upward, gesturing to the board.
Care to play, Isis? It is, after all, a thinking man's game - THE thinking man's game, some might say. And you do fancy yourself to be, as we all know very well...
He pauses, refolding his arms over his chest.
... a thinking man.
The overhead bulb flickers briefly, seeming to animate Scott's plastic visage. He circles around to the table's left side by the camera's view and takes a seat, glancing over at the camera before pulling his chair up to the table.
I assume you will have no issue playing as black... After all, it was I who made the first move.
He pulls his chair up to the table and leans forward, carefully scrutinizing the board in front of him before moving a white pawn out of place. After another few moments, he reaches across the board and moves a black piece out of position as well, apparently playing both sides in a pitched battle with himself.
You and I have been locked in this game, this battle of minds and matters, for quite some time now, Isis. The boldness with which you play as admirable, but I detect minimal prior planning behind the moves you make. You continue to fall for the traps I set, blundering through the game as though you see no viable way by which you might be defeated... and that is a dangerous way of thinking, my friend.
A black rook captures a white pawn, only to fall victim to a white bishop the very next turn.
Very dangerous, indeed.
Scott Wilson continues to attempt to best himself at chess - move after move, counter after counter, trap after trap, captured piece after captured piece. The number of pieces on the board slowly dwindles, until Scott takes a pause. He surveys the board for a moment, making a mental note of each piece and its location relative to the other remaining pieces before again looking into the camera.
I know what you really think of me, Isis. Your recent efforts at talking me up as an opponent you credit and respect have been admirable, but they are unnecessary. Your eyes betray you, and the hatred and disgust for me that fester within you. In your eyes, I am nothing more than the pretender who has been blindsiding you for the past several weeks. I am the filth that has supposedly sided with Dante and his crew of ‘minions’, the pathetic piece of trash that would rather kick you in the head and retreat than meet you face-to-face, man-to-man. In your mind, our match at Mayhem #5 at the Memorial Arena in Los Angeles has already been decided; you have already crowned yourself to be the victor, and I have already been banished back to the pit from whence I came.
A black bishop takes out the last remaining white pawn, only to be captured by the white queen moments later.
But... you see...
The white queen captures the second black bishop.
That is the point. For the last few weeks, you have seen the Scott Wilson I presented to you. And make no mistake, Isis, he IS a coward, a worm, a piece of trash... but for all that, he is NOT the Scott Wilson with whom you will step into the ring with on Mayhem #5. No... the Scott Wilson you meet at Mayhem #5 will be the same Scott you met at Mayhem #4: the Scott that beat you, that battered you, that took you and broke you over his knee like kindling. I do not enter Mayhem to put on a show, either for the fans or for the FWA locker room; I do not enter to bring out the best in you, nor to have my best brought out BY you; I do not enter Mayhem #5 to beat the World Champ, or to gain any sort of victory, or acquire any sort of prestige.
Scott Wilson moves his white queen to capture the black queen, leaving the black king alone on the board with naught but a white rook, queen, and king for company.
This Scott Wilson enters Mayhem #5 for judgment. He enters for justice, for retribution; but, above all else, he enters for Checkmate in our little game. And rest assured, Isis Derrida...
He reaches out his hand, letting it hover over the last, lonely black king as he stares into the camera.
This Scott Wilson WILL. Have. Checkmate.
The hanging bulb flickers and goes out, plunging the cellar into darkness.
Page:DILLIGAF|Chapter:Deceit
-----
"The hideous lonely emptiness of existence, nothingness, the predicament of man forced to live in a barren, godless eternity, like a tiny flame flickering in an immense void, with nothing but waste, horror, and degradation, forming a useless bleak straitjacket in a black absurd cosmos."
-----
It shouldn't have come off as a surprise to anyone. It was already well known that I had absolutely zero respect for Isis Derrida. He walks around backstage as if he were something of value. He actually allowed himself to believe that he was an actual World Champion. But therein lies my greatest advantage; while he is off in la la land, deluding himself and all of the FWA fans into believing he is a real champion, I have manipulating the poor soul into getting exactly what I wanted.
Even before Rumble Bash, even before all the championship fame and glory, I wanted to prove to Isis that he was not as good as he hyped himself up to be. He speaks of 'Enlightenment', he speaks of imparting knowledge to those he need it. But what have you really enlightened anyone about? Now that you are supposedly the face of FWA, what have you done to back that up? Nothing impressive from the looks of it.
Whether you would like to admit it or not, you're not over losing to Dante at Mayhem #4. If anything, you're far from being over it. You want another chance to restore honor back to 'your world'. But the key distinction between your world and the real world is your world only revolves around what if's, could have's, and maybe's. And since you have loitered in your world long enough to make yourself feel halfway decent, when you step into my world and face the realization that you are just simply out matched; then, and only then, will you yourself be truly enlightened.
I am here to liberate you from the self made prison that you have built around you. I am here to guide through the actuality of this world we inhabit. I will help you in the only way I know how; with pain. I will force you to face the realization that you aren't ready to be the face of FWA. You just aren't up to that par yet. But when you do reach that high point in your career, come find me so that I may remind you of our soon to be storied past.
-----
Mayhem #4; Before Dante v Isis
Alignment
The scene comes alive with a visual image of Scott Wilson in his dressing room located at the backstage area of the Memorial Arena. He is seen putting on a druids wardrobe and puts the hood on to his head. He tops it off by sitting down in a steel folding chair and lacing up his wrestling boots. He is all prepared, when suddenly he hears a knock on the door. He rises from his seated position and walks over to the door. He turns the doorknob and opens the door. In walks Dante, clad in his wrestling attire with his eldritch red mask on his face.
Scott steps aside and allows his master room to enter his dressing room. Dante slowly steps into the room, his boots thumping against the carpet with every step he takes. Scott closes the door and turns to face Dante.
Hello Scott. I came here to make sure everything is in order. I want no mistakes out there, or there will be severe consequences to pay.
I assure you Dante, I have everything planned out. I plan on getting retribution on the poor soul Isis for casting me aside.
Hmm. I would like for you to run me through your plans once more.
Well, Valquist is bound to interfere in the match. When he does, I'll put him out of his misery and then proceed to Isis. Then you strike and we have ourselves a victory.
Okay. But this is important. You need to stay hidden. The world cannot know the identities of you four. At least not at this point in time. But I need to head on off. And remember, I want no fuck ups out there tonight.
Yes Master...
And with that, the short dialogue ends between the two and Dante walks past Wilson on his way to exit the room. The sound of a door opening and closing is heard and the scene slowly fades to black.
-----
Page:Still DGAF|Chapter:Alignment II
Ever since I revealed myself as a follower of Dante's, everyone from the FWA jobbers to people who don't even watch Mayhem habitually have been questioning my motives. Questioning my actions. 'Why do you follow in Dante's footsteps' is the most common question. Well, I could sit here and spout how I longed for success or how Dante strikes fear into my heart. I could spout my hatred for Isis until the cows come home, or whatever else comes to mind. But truthfully, I sided with Dante mainly because Dante is where everyone's attention is at, and I am a person who craves attention.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I am using Dante for my own personal gain. I would never call another person 'master' or do their bidding unconditionally without there being a purpose to it. And a lot of people seem to not understand that. They only see the external part, but never dare delve deeper. Early, I spoke of using Isis to get what my heart truly desired. And if are truly empty minded, then I can simply say that I want the FWA Championship. Everyone wants a shot at the FWA championship. Dante, Priest, Rayne Young and a flurry of other unworthy lambs. Unworthy lambs to be slaughtered on the altar of our future.
Undoubtedly, Isis spoke upon my alignment. Like everyone else who didn't understand my reasoning, Isis made false accusations and invalid arguments. He can pity me if he feels it is necessary. But if my memory recalls, Isis never even wanted to step into the ring with me for a match. Title match or not, he was afraid of stepping into the ring and proving himself against someone of worth. Isis Derrida has made a career of fighting people who are weaker than him. Isis thinks its cool to rack up some wins against people who don’t stand a chance.
And what happens as soon as he faces real competition? He fails. It's ironic. I pity Isis just for the simple fact that now that he is our company face, all he will face is real competition. Such as myself, Dante, and many others. Oh what a sad day for Isis Derrida.
-----
Mayhem #4;After Isis v Dante
Mistakes
Mayhem was over and done with. Everyone witnessed Dante and Scott Wilson lay waste to both Priest and Isis Derrida. Everyone was packing up their belongings and leaving the arena. All except Scott and Dante. The two were waaay deep in the bowels of the arena. The scene opens up to the sound of dripping water. In front of the camera are rusted pipes with spider webs beautifully drawn onto them. The camera changes it focus to the seated Scott Wilson in the background. He is still in his robes from earlier in the evening. The camera slowly pans over to capture the full scene. Dante stands over the seated Wilson, a look of anger in his eyes, which hide behind his eldritch mask.
What the hell happened out there, Scott? I thought I told you not to reveal yourself out there. You deliberately disobeyed my orders.
If I may sir... Once I hit Valquist with my signature move, it was all but obvious who I could have been. There was no point in hiding my identity any longer. Think of it this way. We already know you strike fear into a majority of the roster. Now that I am aligned with you, they know not to mess with me. Plus, there is still the three others that are unidentified. What harm did it cause?
... I suppose you're right. But I stay true to my word. You are barred from tonight's meeting. I suggest you think about what you have done. Come now, we're leaving.
Scott watches Dante turn around and exit the mysterious room. Scott rises to his feet as well and follows in Dante's steps. The sound of a door opening and closing. The scene fades to dark as the light in the room dimmers even more.
-----
Page:Still DGAF|Chapter:Mistakes II
As a child, I never quite understood the idea that history was written by the winners. Surely history exists in and of itself and those who write about it are merely reporting their observations, surely history is nothing more than a statement of facts. How could you possibly add a personal spin to events that have already happened? The innocence of youth allows you to have faith in the human condition, it allows you to believe that you can trust those trying to teach you, that the facts and values they wish to instill into you are indeed true facts and just values.
As you begin to grow older though, as that hair begins to grow from every little crevice in your body, you start to begin to question those facts. You watch the television and you watch the political class bickering about the mundane and the miniscule as more people stand on the employment line. You begin to question why you should trust authority, why you should believe that these self-serving maniacs are looking after your best interests as they continue to pocket countless campaign “contributions” from those who wish to add more homeless to our streets. It certainly makes you wonder about the convictions of the men who wish to pursue that career, I'm sure you'll agree.
I can't discredit Isis. He is our world champion and that was something Dante couldn't even do. Does it matter that he lost to Dante the following week or that he disingenuously denied a challenge from me? Yes it does, but the fact of the matter is Isis is our world champion, and I will give him his little bit of credit. Don't get me wrong, my hatred for the kid is still there. But he bested everyone who attempted to have a chance at where he is today. He even bested me, even if he wasn't the one to eliminate me.
Hell, I wouldn't even have a problem with Isis if it weren't for the simple fact that he believes he is better than me. He treats me with such disrespect that it is enough to fuel my hatred for him for many more years to come. He completely disregards me and makes small attempts and jabs at my pride that I just can't help but hate him. It wasn't the path I had originally planned on taking, but things change. I remember when FWA had its first Mayhem. Boy, have things changed.
Everyone may not agree with the choices I have made. They may have already hated me for what I did to 'The Most Loved Fraud In The World' Leviticus. But all in all, it's who I am. Can I really help what I do in that ring? I am sure we have all heard the saying it is best to be hated for what you are then to be loved for what you aren't. And I am a clear representation of that. Is it my fault that Isis is so insecure that he allows the crowd to boost his head up into thinking that he is some enlightening saint, sent to make FWA a better place?
The answer is no. It is not in my control what Isis is. As far as I am concerned, he can be as insecure as he sees fit.
-----
The scene fades in through the lens of a jostling camera, the image bouncing up and down and side-to-side as someone fiddles with it from off-screen. The camera finally clicks into place - presumably atop a tripod, or some other fixed docking point - and we finally get a clear look at where the camera is located.
It's a basement or sub cellar of some kind. The walls and floor - what can be seen of them, anyway - are thick, exposed concrete, and the ceiling appears to be composed of barebones woodwork, interlaced with pipes and cables. The only light comes from a dangling bulb with a pull chain attached to it; its filament occasionally flickers and flares, casting strange shadows on the floor and walls, all of which run away from the camera and back into the encroaching darkness.
Directly in front of the camera sits a wooden table, upon which sets a fully set-up chessboard. The pieces, both black and white, have all been placed in their pre-match positions with what appears to be meticulous precision, and two chairs sit on opposite sides of the table, waiting for the players to make use of them.
Another moment passes, and the individual who was messing with the camera at fade-in suddenly walks past, circling around the table and standing behind it, facing the camera. He is, as one would suspect from his surroundings, none other than Scott Wilson, decked out in his usual dress of a black aviator's jacket, black cargo pants, and black combat boots. He looks into the camera for a moment, arms folded over his chest, and then lowers his gaze down to the board.
Chess...
This is a momentous occasion indeed – Scott Wilson's first words, spoken from behind his mask for all of the FWA to hear. His voice is heavily distorted, made deeper and broader by a device hidden within the mask, but there is an unmistakable aura of dignity emanating from it. He returns his eyes to the camera and holds out a hand, palm upward, gesturing to the board.
Care to play, Isis? It is, after all, a thinking man's game - THE thinking man's game, some might say. And you do fancy yourself to be, as we all know very well...
He pauses, refolding his arms over his chest.
... a thinking man.
The overhead bulb flickers briefly, seeming to animate Scott's plastic visage. He circles around to the table's left side by the camera's view and takes a seat, glancing over at the camera before pulling his chair up to the table.
I assume you will have no issue playing as black... After all, it was I who made the first move.
He pulls his chair up to the table and leans forward, carefully scrutinizing the board in front of him before moving a white pawn out of place. After another few moments, he reaches across the board and moves a black piece out of position as well, apparently playing both sides in a pitched battle with himself.
You and I have been locked in this game, this battle of minds and matters, for quite some time now, Isis. The boldness with which you play as admirable, but I detect minimal prior planning behind the moves you make. You continue to fall for the traps I set, blundering through the game as though you see no viable way by which you might be defeated... and that is a dangerous way of thinking, my friend.
A black rook captures a white pawn, only to fall victim to a white bishop the very next turn.
Very dangerous, indeed.
Scott Wilson continues to attempt to best himself at chess - move after move, counter after counter, trap after trap, captured piece after captured piece. The number of pieces on the board slowly dwindles, until Scott takes a pause. He surveys the board for a moment, making a mental note of each piece and its location relative to the other remaining pieces before again looking into the camera.
I know what you really think of me, Isis. Your recent efforts at talking me up as an opponent you credit and respect have been admirable, but they are unnecessary. Your eyes betray you, and the hatred and disgust for me that fester within you. In your eyes, I am nothing more than the pretender who has been blindsiding you for the past several weeks. I am the filth that has supposedly sided with Dante and his crew of ‘minions’, the pathetic piece of trash that would rather kick you in the head and retreat than meet you face-to-face, man-to-man. In your mind, our match at Mayhem #5 at the Memorial Arena in Los Angeles has already been decided; you have already crowned yourself to be the victor, and I have already been banished back to the pit from whence I came.
A black bishop takes out the last remaining white pawn, only to be captured by the white queen moments later.
But... you see...
The white queen captures the second black bishop.
That is the point. For the last few weeks, you have seen the Scott Wilson I presented to you. And make no mistake, Isis, he IS a coward, a worm, a piece of trash... but for all that, he is NOT the Scott Wilson with whom you will step into the ring with on Mayhem #5. No... the Scott Wilson you meet at Mayhem #5 will be the same Scott you met at Mayhem #4: the Scott that beat you, that battered you, that took you and broke you over his knee like kindling. I do not enter Mayhem to put on a show, either for the fans or for the FWA locker room; I do not enter to bring out the best in you, nor to have my best brought out BY you; I do not enter Mayhem #5 to beat the World Champ, or to gain any sort of victory, or acquire any sort of prestige.
Scott Wilson moves his white queen to capture the black queen, leaving the black king alone on the board with naught but a white rook, queen, and king for company.
This Scott Wilson enters Mayhem #5 for judgment. He enters for justice, for retribution; but, above all else, he enters for Checkmate in our little game. And rest assured, Isis Derrida...
He reaches out his hand, letting it hover over the last, lonely black king as he stares into the camera.
This Scott Wilson WILL. Have. Checkmate.
The hanging bulb flickers and goes out, plunging the cellar into darkness.