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X-treme Wrestling Federation BOARDS » Savage Boards » "Savage Saturday Night" RP Board
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Chris Chaos Offline
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Post: #1
03-13-2018 02:35 AM

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The opening avatar came on the screen--dark and bleak, showing a man in a full trench coat walking down an alley, with shots of Chris blending in and out.

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Then the scene cuts to pristine Clearwater Beach, Florida. It shows Pier 60, the cocaine white sand, the greenish hue of the Gulf rolling in. Arial view. It took us over the city of Clearwater and over the Courtney Campbell Bridge, into Tampa.

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The skyline of Tampa is now visible as music plays in the background, light enough to be notice but soft enough not to distract the viewer from what is going on in the picture. It passed by some historic buildings in Ybor City, one of the oldest and most stories districts in the entire city.

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It circled around the city as [shadow=white]THE X-TREME WRESTLING FEDERATION PRESENTS:[/shadow] shows up on the screen. Street signs from inner Tampa are shown as it moves away from the city, towards Pasco County.

Finally, it cuts to Chris, taking off his sunglasses and looking into the camera as the scene fades to black.

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"This may be the most real description of a roster member I have ever seen. Despite it being spelled wrong---I'll just blame culture differences for that---but this little twerp certainly is a disease. It is guys like him that are tainting the good name of this place. Guys like him who come in, shoot for comedy, and come off as corny. Guys like him who come in and think they run the place. Let me be the bearer of bad news for you.....buddy, you ain't shit. You get to step up to the plate and take me on for this title, and in the end you are going to lose. You may put up a good fight, but just like many others before you, you will be a victim of the chaos. You see, this place is full of trolls, we don't need another one. We don't need more lame attempts at comedy to compensate for lack of skill. We don't need anymore dudes who think their shit doesn't stink spreading their stench of failure over this roster then trying to be a tough guy by rubbing small things in the faces of the people who helped build this place. People like you aren't what we need representing a title division. Call it a "lesser" title, it is still gold here, and guys like you just aren't made for gold.

You are a disease, an epidemic, a cancer, and I am here to put the rest of this company out of the misery of having to look up to you as anything but a mid card nobody. You had all you could handle last week versus Anthony "Knucks" Scalici, a guy who can barely form a proper sentence and his fighting style looks like an autistic cat trying to get itself out of the dumpster it was abandoned in. It sucks. It took you almost 8 full minutes to get a time. This time, it is 15, and trust me, I won't need even a quarter of that. I made it my goal to bring honor back to this title, to re-establish it as something of value again. Letting you anywhere close to this belt is just not an option. Consider me the sandman, Pestlance, because your time on stage is over---I'm bringing the hook.

You're black and from the New York metro area, you'll get that.


Probably not.

So, tell me why you are better than me. I look forward to hearing your promo. I look forward to listening to you ebonics your way through the airwaves yet again, bringing the IQ of this company down a few points and making two-bit hacks like Micheal Graves feel better about themselves. Guys like Cadryn Tiberius who jump from identity to identity because they are tired of getting their dicks kicked in week in and week out, so they try to "reinvent themselves" gimmicks, new clothing, new attitude.....same lack of ability. I will give you credit, as dumb as you look and sound you come out as yourself and you own it. You sound like you've never picked up a textbook in your life and look like someone who does maintenance in my building.....but you own it. I'll give you credit for that. Too many cowards in this place, but not quite enough jokes. You'll put a check in the joke category. We are an equal opportunity joke employer, thanks Vin, but the problem is our jokes either get injured, run out of town, or just decide to do their best Tiberius vanishing act and we are stuck needing more.

So, go on, tell me why you're better than me. Tell me why one victory earns you a title shot. Tell me why beating some guy from Chicago with no clout or merit earns you a chance to lace the boots up against me? Tell me, and I will tell you all the reasons why you're more full of shit than the idea of Finn Kuhn being the Universal Champion.

....Someday, Finn.'ll actually be more than the talented superstar who was just good enough to be noticed but never good enough to matter.

Don't be like Finn Pest.

Don't be like Graves.

Don't be like Cadryn.

Be yourself, and lose to Chris Chris like 48 others before you.

Be yourself and get crushed under my boot like the pest you are.

a fatal epidemic disease, especially bubonic plague.

The light comes on. Chris is sitting in a dark room with only a table and a chair, but seemingly nothing else. The camera must be mounted to the wall. His voice had cut through the darkness, but now he can be seen staring into the camera with a firey passion in his eyes. Around him......under him....above him........covering every crevice of the room were..........pests. Cockroaches, silverfish, centipedes, millipedes, various spiders. You name it, it was there. Also what could be seen on the screen were a few snakes, the size hard to tell as they, too, were covered in bugs. Rats squeaked in the corners, some looked rabid. This was a room from hell, and Chris seemed perfectly calm.

The pests continued to crawl and slither around. Normally, during Chris's show, there were people around and usually a cameo by Bruce or Jenny. This time, it was just him.


On his own.

The way he was best.

"In this room are at least 5 different species that can kill me. Between here and the door lies what could very well be the death of Chris Chaos. Pests. Every last one of them."

What Chris failed to tell the camera was that he hated bugs. It wasn't so much that he hated them, but rather was afraid of them. He would flip out over a daddy long legs, much less the baseball sized critters sharing his room space. This was hell for him. Even the smallest bug brushing up against him in a normal setting would cause a panic attack.

We all have our vices.

But Chris looked calm, like there was nothing in the room but four painted walls. He was going to get through this adversity, face arguably his biggest fear, and do it without question or hesitation. He had to, what other choice did he have?

Nodding at the camera, he moved his feet out in front of him, hearing a crunch as the buzz in the room--literally--got louder. Slowly standing up the wall camera shifted. There was a gas can and a flamethrower on the wall by the door.

He was going to have a choice to make.

Life was full of choices, some were good and some were bad. Everyone us bound to make a few bad ones.

He stands up, slowly, inching forward but never changing his expression. With a deep inhale, then exhale, he took a step forward. There was a hissing sound near him, louder than anything else in the room.

Snake, he knew it right away.

And it wasn't a hiss, it was a rattle. A diamond back. One of the most poisonous snakes on the planet stared at him as he felt the small movement of the roaches crawling over his shoes. That is what the XWF was, roaches crawling over his shoes with the occasional snake standing in his way, waiting to cut him down with the venom it possessed.

This place had a habit of doing that. He took another step forward and the snake slithered ever closer. The rats were getting into it now, leaving their corners and coming to join in on the action. Bugs dropped from the ceiling, falling into his hair and onto his shoulders. Spiders formed webs in the corners, waiting, watching the show unfold but never getting involved until the rotting corpse was left for them. Another hiss, this time from behind. Emerging out through an endless sea of bugs was another snake, this one a python as far as he could tell. No time to check. He took a step forward, and the snake didn't budge. True to its guns, the snake always waits for the right time to strike.

Chris crunched forward, kicking roaches and millipedes off the cuff of his jean bottoms. The room sounded like a thousand tiny helicopters all taking off at once. The stench was unbelievable.

Then, in one mad dash he raced for the door. The snake lunged but he was able to avoid it, but slipping in the process and falling face to face with the bugs, the pests, that he has been forced to coexist with. Living among them for a moment, he plotted his next move. The snakes, god they looked huge from this angle, approached, one on each side. Another deep breath, spitting one of the roaches from his lips that tried to crawl in his mouth, he pushed himself up.

Racing to the door he dodged the lunch, this time staying upright, and put bis hands on the gas cannister. He was beginning to feel like he would never get out of this room of horrors, like these pests would eat him alive. He couldn't allow that. He dumped the gas, wading into the the pile of increasingly advancing bugs. Dumping it until empty, he reached back and grabbed the flamethrower.

He had done it, he had accomplished one of his goals. Get through the pests and the snakes because at the end of the day that is all they will be--they couldn't hold him back. He had conquered a fear of his, in fact probably his worst one, but he still had a decision to make. He now felt even more comfortable knowing he had the weapon of death in his hand, but he could still also just go to the door. Once he reached it, it would open, and he could just leave and put this all behind him.

Once he reached the door it could be all over. He made his move, heading towards the door. He felt them at his heels, going up his pant his, crawling across his shoulder. Wanting to keep him in a hyperventalative state, he couldn't let them win.


He reached the door and grabbed the handle. He did it. The door popped ajar, now he just had to push it open and escape this retched place.

Just as he pushed the door open he turned around with a smile. Pressing the button on the flame thrower he watched as the orange encompased the room, engulfing everything in site.

He didn't NEED to do that, he chose to do that. Rid himself, and the world, of these pests once and for all. He would not stop until each and every one of them was ash beneath his feet.

Slamming the door shut, he listened to the sizzle and pop and found comfort knowing that most of the room was still alive, dying a slow and agonizing death that he didn't need to bestow on them, and laid his head back on the door.

"Fucking pests."

The XWF logo appeared on the screen but the corners of it were on fire now. The flames boucning up from the corner of the digital logo matched the fire in his belly and his eyes. He only had one choice left now.

Burn this motherfucker to the ground and take back what is his. Burn it to rubble and laugh as he steps over the charred remains.

Chaos is back.

Pest control.

[shadow=blue]END SHOW[/shadow]

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