Post by Dangerous K on Apr 19, 2009 10:53:27 GMT -5
His eyes are cold, a righteous cold burn that slowly simmers the room around him. Wisps of hair dangle in his face as he continues to stare a hole through the locker room wall. All around him banners are draped across empty lockers, displaying the pretty boy faces of Christian Cage and John Cena. Pictures also hang along the walls, all of them displaying the various wrestlers and their accomplishments in Full Contact Wrestling.
The camera pans back and we see Triple H sitting in his locker, his hands wrapped around the wooden shaft of a sledgehammer. His grip is so tight, splinters dig into the palms of his hands, drawing blood. He doesn’t care. The Game intently stares at the one particular banner that hangs directly across from him.
That banner depicts Jimmy Gimmick, the poster boy of FCW.
Triple H:
“I’ve been a professional wrestler for fifteen years. I’ve been hanging with the best and the worst of pro-wrestling since I was a kid. I’ve been showing off in the ring since I got my debut in 1993. I’ve been at the top of this business, and I’ve started at the very bottom. The fact remains that I, Triple H, have never lost my passion for this business. I’ve never stopped caring about what I do, about who I fight, and most of all, about what I’ve accomplished.
So imagine my surprise when I learn that my first match in Full Contact Wrestling is against the poster boy of the FCW. The man whose smug smile is plastered over every single banner and poster that the FCW has produced. A man that—to my knowledge—has not accomplished a single damn thing in comparison to me. A man that has no business even being in the same ring as me, and I have to ask…
… What the hell are they thinking?”
Triple H shakes his head, and he lets out a low chuckle that seems to rumble across the airwaves.
Triple H:
“I look at your face, Jimmy Gimmick, and I see not a man, not a wrestler, but a small, cocky child. I see someone who has no right to be smiling and profiling all over the face of FCW. I see a kid who has no business stepping into the ring with the King of Kings. And you know what? It makes me sick inside. It makes me sick to my stomach that a kid like you could get yourself booked against a man—a champion—like me. The Uncrowned Champion of the FCW… and what did you do to deserve that honour? Huh? What did you do to deserve the prestigious honour of facing The Game?”
Triple H snarls at the face of Jimmy Gimmick, who seems to smile at him unflinchingly, almost taunting the Cerebral Assassin.
Triple H:
“You’ve done nothing, kid. Jimmy Gimmick, you’ve done nothing to deserve to compete on the first ever edition of Friday Night Anarchy… and take on the Uncrowned Champion. And yet… you still smile, don’t you? You still smile even now, watching this promo and thinking to yourself, ‘The Game’s lost it, there’s no contest, I’m gonna win!’
… And you know what? Talking like that, thinking like that, whispering your little strategies to your man-child friends… that’s only going to do one thing for you, Jimmy. That’s going to be like taking a shovel—“
Triple H’s grip on the sledgehammer seems to tighten, his knuckles turning white.
Triple H:
[/color]The camera pans back and we see Triple H sitting in his locker, his hands wrapped around the wooden shaft of a sledgehammer. His grip is so tight, splinters dig into the palms of his hands, drawing blood. He doesn’t care. The Game intently stares at the one particular banner that hangs directly across from him.
That banner depicts Jimmy Gimmick, the poster boy of FCW.
Triple H:
“I’ve been a professional wrestler for fifteen years. I’ve been hanging with the best and the worst of pro-wrestling since I was a kid. I’ve been showing off in the ring since I got my debut in 1993. I’ve been at the top of this business, and I’ve started at the very bottom. The fact remains that I, Triple H, have never lost my passion for this business. I’ve never stopped caring about what I do, about who I fight, and most of all, about what I’ve accomplished.
So imagine my surprise when I learn that my first match in Full Contact Wrestling is against the poster boy of the FCW. The man whose smug smile is plastered over every single banner and poster that the FCW has produced. A man that—to my knowledge—has not accomplished a single damn thing in comparison to me. A man that has no business even being in the same ring as me, and I have to ask…
… What the hell are they thinking?”
Triple H shakes his head, and he lets out a low chuckle that seems to rumble across the airwaves.
Triple H:
“I look at your face, Jimmy Gimmick, and I see not a man, not a wrestler, but a small, cocky child. I see someone who has no right to be smiling and profiling all over the face of FCW. I see a kid who has no business stepping into the ring with the King of Kings. And you know what? It makes me sick inside. It makes me sick to my stomach that a kid like you could get yourself booked against a man—a champion—like me. The Uncrowned Champion of the FCW… and what did you do to deserve that honour? Huh? What did you do to deserve the prestigious honour of facing The Game?”
Triple H snarls at the face of Jimmy Gimmick, who seems to smile at him unflinchingly, almost taunting the Cerebral Assassin.
Triple H:
“You’ve done nothing, kid. Jimmy Gimmick, you’ve done nothing to deserve to compete on the first ever edition of Friday Night Anarchy… and take on the Uncrowned Champion. And yet… you still smile, don’t you? You still smile even now, watching this promo and thinking to yourself, ‘The Game’s lost it, there’s no contest, I’m gonna win!’
… And you know what? Talking like that, thinking like that, whispering your little strategies to your man-child friends… that’s only going to do one thing for you, Jimmy. That’s going to be like taking a shovel—“
Triple H’s grip on the sledgehammer seems to tighten, his knuckles turning white.
Triple H:
“—And burying it six feet deep in the dirt. That’s going to be like digging your own grave, Jimmy Gimmick. What you’re doing, what you plan to do, what you think you can accomplish for your career by beating ME, Triple H, is nothing compared to the hell I’m going to put you through when that bell rings, and you’re standing across the ring from the Cerebral Assassin.”
Triple H lowers his head, finally breaking his stare on Jimmy Gimmick’s banner.
Triple H:[/color]
“And the funny thing? The really hysterical thing? You’re not to blame for this. I know you didn’t come up with idea by yourself. I know you weren’t the one who went to the general manager and pleaded and begged for a match with Triple H… I know it was his idea. I know it was him who decided you’d be a great contender to knock me off the top of this mountain. Me… the Uncrowned Champion. And the funny thing about that? It’s still not gonna mean a damn thing when you’re left lying in a pool of your own blood, courtesy of my favourite weapon.
But that’s the point, isn’t it? Ken Kennedy is trying to prove a point. He’s trying to tell the people that The Game doesn’t have what it takes anymore. He’s trying to tell the people that The Game is a has-been, probably a never-was, and that he can’t compare to the golden boy Jimmy Gimmick… and what really completes this circle of hysteria? What really makes me pissed off about this whole damn thing?”
Triple H’s head rises once more, and his cold, burning stare looks directly at us.
Triple H:[/color]
“When that bell rings, and you’re standing across the ring from the GREATEST professional wrestler in the world, I’m gonna look in your eyes, and I’m going to see the slightest twitch… of fear. I’m going to be staring you down and burning a hole through your face and you’re gonna look at me, with that brief flicker of doubt. And you’re gonna quickly bury that in the back of your head, and you’re gonna put on a brave smile, and you’re gonna try to test The Game… and it won’t matter. It won’t matter because I KNOW I am better than you. I KNOW that I am the greatest pro-wrestler in the world. I KNOW that the thirteen championship title reigns I’ve gotten are deserved, are proven, are a statement of FACT that I am the best.
And you, Jimmy Gimmick?
You’re just gonna be… another victim.”
Triple H smiles, his bright white teeth glistening under the fluorescent lights of the locker room. He then stands from his seat, blood dripping across his fists from his tight grip on the sledgehammer.
Triple H:
“Bring whatever you can, kid, bring the whole goddamn army after me. It’s not gonna make a difference when I’ve got you all alone in the middle of that ring and I make you realize that all the planning, all the hard work, all the sacrifice, and all the blood, sweat, and tears... won’t keep you from making that one, fatal realization…”
As quick as a flash of lightning, Triple H turns and throws the sledgehammer at the banner of Jimmy Gimmick, piercing the veil and shattering the drywall behind it. The camera zooms in to see the damage done, and Triple H slowly walks back into frame, staring intently at the large hole in the wall.
Triple H:
“You’re gonna choke.”[/center]
