Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

Centurion · (06-15-2020)

In Loving Memory:

("Why would he do that?"

That's the only thought that has gone through Centurion's mind for the past week. On Saturday Night Savage, the final real show (fuck Anarchy) before WarGames, Centurion found himself in the ring with a "this is your life" cast of villains from his past - Shane

, Chris Page, Robert Main, and Shawn Warstein. All hell broke loose. Then something weird happened.

Shawn Warstein saved him.

Outside of Blizzard, there may be not greater foe Centurion has faced throughout the course of his career than the former Fuzz, and yet, when a shower of needles came down from the sky, Warstein put himself at risk in order to save Centurion from the onslaught. Those are the kinds of moments that can really change your perspective on life.

We open up inside the former C&C Inc. training center and current home of Centurion. There, we see Allison and Walter standing in front of a white board. They have the WarGames teams listed in their entirety, as well as the match ups. Some names are underlined, some are circled, and some have notes next to them. Sitting at a table in front of them is Tula Keali'i, who is looking intently at them and the board. Next to Tula is Centurion, who is incredibly distracted.

He has a syringe in his hand, that he is studying intently. He taps the end of it, ensuring it's authenticity. Walter and Allison continue to babble about at the board.)

Allison: ...which is why Hired Gun might be the biggest threat on that team. Everyone else is either a let down or a massive wildcard. He is consistent.

Walter: Yeah, but Dick Powers is such an unknown. We can assume based on what he looks like and what his name is that he won't be any good, but that's not a good strategy. What do you think, Andy?

(Allison and Walter both look over at Centurion, who remains distracted. Allison walks up the the table and smacks it with her hand, causing Centurion to jump and focus on her.)

Allison: Are you alright?

Centurion: Yeah. Sure. I'm fine.

Allison: You sure as hell don't look fine.

(Allison takes the syringe from Centurion and looks at it. She studies it for a bit before placing it back down on the table.)

Allison: Alright, let's talk about it.

Centurion: Why the hell would he save me? It makes zero sense.

Allison: It's possible he's trying to psych you out. Get you to think he's a good person so you pump the breaks a bit in War Games.

Walter: He might also be looking for some sort of "return". He helped you, so now he's going to look for you to help him. Give him some secrets or something. Something to get him an advantage.

Tula: Maybe he actually didn't want you to get hurt because he respects you.

(The other three in the room slowly turn their heads and face Tula. All have wide eyes and stare daggers into her.)

Centurion: You're new here.

Allison: Regardless of the reasons, the focus remains the same. Warstein and his team are your top priority. If you don't get past them, it really doesn't matter who else wins these matches.

Centurion: We'll get past them.

Allison: Will you?

Centurion: (points to the board) Look at that team! Are you kidding me? Theo basically autodrafted for him and gave him nothing but shit cards!

Allison: Oh really? What's Doug Whitford like?

Centurion: He's...kind of dopy. Weird hair. Looks like he showers infrequently.

Allison: What's his wrestling style like?

Centurion: ...I don't know.

Allison: Exactly! He could be a world class athlete.

Centurion: He's not...

Allison: And how the fuck would you know?! This isn't a routine walk in the park here!

Centurion: Oh, I'm sorry, am I not taking this serious enough for you? I must have forgotten how much this effects you IN ANY WAY!

Walter: ENOUGH!!

(Centurion and Allison don't break eye contact. It's clear the comments have bothered both twins in different ways, but their stubborn nature has gotten the best of them. Meanwhile, Tula continues to sit at the table as an observer, with a slight smirk on her face.)

Walter: If you can't take care of your own business, you're completely screwed the moment you step in that ring. Allison's right. There's a lot of question marks surrounding Fuzz's team, and you're likely to walk in with a replacement. And who even knows who that might be. Your biggest challenge may be the first one.

Centurion: Are you kidding me? (Points to white board) Look at that team!

Walter: That team is four soldiers following the Universal Champion into battle. What do you have? Tula, great. You already know Calvary won't be there. And where's the rest of your team?

AROOOOOOGGGAAA!!!!

(The sound of a comically loud horn from outside the building causes everyone to look, incredibly confused, toward the front of the building. Centurion and Tula both stand up and the four of them walk toward the front door before opening it up outside. What they are greeted with is a sight to behold.

[Image: wXpSuJs.jpg]

A beat up car sits directly in front of the door. It is bright red, except for the areas of obvious rust and the black duct tape that is barely holding it together. Standing next to this hunk of junk is Robbie Bourbon, who slaps the top of the roof like it's his pride and joy.)

Bourbon: Traffic was a bitch.

Centurion: Robbie?

(Bourbon looks behind him, sarcastically, then back to Centurion.)

Bourbon: No, I'm Bob Vila, and I'm here to fix up your place.

Centurion: Why are you here? And more importantly, why are you driving that piece of shit?

Bourbon: Yeah, thanks for the invite, jackass. And this beauty? Bought it from a college kid for 50 bucks.

(Robbie tosses the keys over to Walter.)

Bourbon: Park it for me, will ya? Now who's going to invite me in?

------You blocked me on Facebook------

Robert Main has to be laughing his tits off right now.

In the first round match for his team, he faces Shane

and that merry band of misfits. Let's face it - it's going to be a squash. Main's team is going to absolutely steamroll them. They may lose Low Mo - maybe - but I expect that team to be near 100% by the time the main event comes around.

Then, the two teams that are likely to cause them the most problems happen to be paired against each other, and will beat the ever loving shit out of one another. Whoever leaves the match between Shawn's team and my team will be doing so at a disadvantage.

So, if you were wondering why Main went through all that trouble to make sure Shawn didn't make it to the final two in that captains match...there you go.

Not that we shouldn't have seen it coming. If I would have won the match and Shawn finished fourth, the front office would have found some bullshit reason to pair us against each other. Can't say I necessarily blame them - people want "fresh" and "new". Seeing Centurion Vs Fuzz in the main event of a pay per view doesn't fit that mold, so let's do whatever we need to do to make sure that doesn't happen.

Besides, no one wants me in that main event because I'm boring as rat shit. Isn't that right? Isn't that what every fucking person on the planet has said about me since the moment I walked into this company 19 fucking years ago? It's absolutely incredible how many people jump on that damn train - that because I don't strap a camera to my face and murder a room full of gypsies that I'm somehow boring. I get it, you beat off to your horror porn because the world around you sucks so bad that you need to witness others in pain just to remember that feelings exist. Sorry I can't provide that for you - and by "sorry", I mean "go fuck yourselves."

I could win this whole damn event. I could be standing at the end of the weekend, blood dripping down my face as I stand in the center of a hundred corpses to become the ultimate champion, and I will still be called "boring" and a mid-carder. Much like Shawn Warstein will be called "old" and a "druggie", and much like Atara Themis will be called a "slut". It's the same. Fucking. Bullshit. Over and over again, and yet I'M the one who gets called boring!

Fuck Robert Main and his delusional, "look at how spooky I am now" bullshit. Fuck Shane

and the mockery he makes of this business. Fuck Hanari Carnes and the spots he is hand given, only to blow them over and over again. And fuck Shawn Warstein and his superiority complex.

Shawn and I may no longer be going at each other's throats as bitter enemies, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't drop him in an instant the moment I had the chance. I have to listen to the same old bullshit all the time. "Oh, you hate that I came back and took your spotlight. What's it like living in my shadow?" Fuck you! Don't act like you didn't use a young, foul mouthed Australian to get yourself over and breathe life back into your career. You're on top of the world now. That's great. You continue to represent the old guys. But you know as well as I do that there's only one person in line for your title that deserves it - me. And the rest of these clowns can keep throwing their little barbs from afar because they haven't done shit, and the moment I beat one of them, they will whine about how the entire thing was rigged and they will quit.

And the rest of your team can go jump in a lake, too. I don't know who Doug Whitford is, but he looks like a prick. Seriously, he looks like one of those wrestlers that show up, get a couple of chuckles for a few weeks, but the moment he starts wearing out his welcome, he will vanish, only to pop in every once and a while to "fill a spot" and pick up a paycheck. Tell me I'm wrong. What is this dude's purpose if it isn't to be a massive troll. It sure as hell isn't to WIN! That can't be the case.

While we're on the topic of people who serve no purpose but to just be there and fill a void, LeStrange is batting clean up for Team Warstein. If he brings his severed head to the ring, does that count as two people? Shouldn't one of the other team mates be forced to leave?

Oh, I'm sorry, am I not taking LeStrange seriously enough? That's my fault - I know a deranged dude tossing around a severed head is supposed to freak me out, but...it just doesn't. I'm sorry. It's a neat trick. I'm sure you can scare a few children at parties. But I can't find myself to give a fuck. There's better people who have done that schtick, and most of them I don't respect, either.

I'm sure Vanessa Gibson will have some nice words to say about me. She's always so laid back, and refrains from saying what is TRULY on her mind. She will be nothing but respectful, and will talk about all the roads I paved for wrestlers like her.

Yeah, and I'm going to consider Michael Graves a "legitimate threat". Fuck out of here.

I have no real issues with her, even though I know she's going to slander the everloving shit out of me, but issues or not, she stands in my way. I will do ask she asks - I will respect the hell out of her. I will see her as an equal, and as someone who should seen as a fellow warrior on the battle field.

Then I will bury the shit out of her.

And yet, eliminating any of these folks won't give me nearly the satisfaction I will receive from taking out Big D. Mr. "I retired but now I regret it so I'm going to pull stupid stunts for a month so people can care about me." I'm so over him. There was a time when I considered Big D a young, up and comer who was on his way to great things in this company. Now?

Well, let's just say Shawn would have been better off with Bilbo.

And here's what's funny - this is going to piss Big D off so fucking much. It's going to sit with him for months and months. I know that because the last time I criticized him at War Games, he wouldn't shut the fuck up about it. This time around, I expect him to throw another bitch fit, and we'll have our match in December and he'll still be talking about it. Then when he fails to beat me, again, he will retire, again, only to immediately regret it and come back...again.

What a cast of winners you've got there, Shawn. Though I know that isn't news to you. In fact, you love it. This gives you the opportunity to show everyone how much of a bad ass you are - by leading your little team of freaks all the way to victory. It would be a hell of a story...but it would be in the fiction section.

Because I have similar goals, Shawn. I also plan on winning this entire contest. Only difference is, I drafted a pretty decent team. Robbie Bourbon is a fucking tank. I can take shots at him all day, as can you, but you know the kind of fight that dude has in him. Tula is a wildcard, but one I can trust. And Chris Chaos, while being near the bottom of my "people I don't want to see blown up" list, I got him for a steal in the third round. Calvary...he's probably dead, but that just means I'll be given a...hopefully suitable replacement.

And I fully expect to meet Robert Main in the main event. Again, without much of a scratch on him. And he will have Chris Page, and likely Thunder Knuckles, unless he gets paid off, and they will stand there looking like intimidating assholes, ready to pick me apart.

And I will also likely see Atara there, as well, because despite being thrown into the captains chair at the last minute, she's still much more of a threat than Hanari Carnes is, and she wasn't dumb enough to draft Michael Graves and FUCKING MASTERMIND!

...seriously, what a dumbass.

And Atara's team and my team will be beat to shit, and Main will be cackling with laughter as his entire plan starts coming together, and he will almost get to the mountain top.

...and be will lose. Because Robert Main let's people down. It's what he does. And yes, he will look like a house on fire, and he will deliver many beatings, but then he will fumble the football. And him and Page will pout, and then they'll try to deny what happened, and they'll go out and kill a hooker or whatever the fuck they do, and then they will start all over. And they'll continue to dominate the tag team division, which has a grand total of three teams in it, and yet no one will call HIM a fucking midcarder who is clingling on to a lower belt, because you're all pussies.

Being named a War Games captain was the best thing to happen to me. The easiest way to shut people up is to draft a slam dunk team and lay waste to every other wrestler on the roster, and that's EXACTLY what I plan on doing. You don't have to like me. Hell, I don't even care if you respect me. At this point in my life, I'm done asking for your respect. I'll just take victories. I'll keep racking up wins and collecting trophies while you scream on Twitter about how people "just don't get you". And someone else will come in behind you, and repeat the exact same shit.

You don't want to like or respect me? Fine. Cry about out as you're take a long, hard look at my wrestling boots, because while I'm standing over you, soaking in the applause and winning the biggest match of my career, I couldn't give any less of a shit if you like me or not.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Internet Friends
Author	Message