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What's That Sound?
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Centurion Offline
Active in XWF

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(has an old school wrestling mentality; no nonsense; less appealing to some younger fans)

Post: #1
05-30-2020 06:30 PM

CONTINUED FROM "There's War on The Streets": and the ending of "Facing My Demons":

"The lady’s right"

(Tula and Centurion quickly turn their heads towards the sound of the mysterious voice. A figure walks through the woods, but is barely seen – only a black silhouette and the sound of crunching leaves and sticks gives away the position of the person. After a few seconds though, the figure comes closer, until they step into the clearing. It’s Chris Chaos, the man they have been waiting for.)

"You shouldn’t have come here."

Chris steps out of the bushes. Tula gasps, and Centurion, although not afraid of this man, does brace himself for the unpredictability he has become known for.

"Relax. I'm not here to hurt ya. Your health benefits me. I've had the deck stacked against me one too many times in this place to have to go into War Games alone. Believe it or not, I'm not THAT arrogant."

Both of them do indeed relax a bit.

"Then why should we not have come here? Why the ominous, creepy horror movie killer lurking in the bushes voice then?"

"Well, because you just never know exactly WHO was in those bushes. Your leaving yourself out in the open, exposed. There are far too many snakes in the grass around this place, and every one of them would love to take their pound of flesh before this little shindig gets underway."

Chris sits down next to them, his feet moving loose dirt and debris around.

"How's your arm feeling?"

"I'll live."

"Tough girl."

"You have no idea."

Chris picked his head up.

"You're new here, but I can tell you can handle yourself when shit hits the fan. And trust me, it will. Kind of the M.O. of this place. Not gonna lie, you've got a strong mentor. Centurion is All-State, you're in good hands."

"I know. But what we are both wondering about is what you bring to the table. Your mind state, your mental health and progress."

Chris smiles a weird grin, tilting his head to the side. He stares at her for a moment before his creepy grin turns into an outright smile. He looks at Centurion.

"Progress is an interesting word, Cent. Progress is what everything on this planet revolves around. Progress keeps everything moving. XWF is the polar opposite of progress. I don't know if it's management, the lack of recruiting or viable talent, or the fact that the same three names wedge themselves into the fabric of the proverbial XWF couch and don't let go. Centurion, if I can be frank for a moment, you're one of the best wrestlers I have been in the ring with. No offense, but you're kind of a senior citizen around here. You've seen every nook and cranny of XWF, do you think we've progressed?"

"Would you love to go back? Do you want to return to the days of Shane Carver having you wrestle in shit? I know it was your glory days, but I also know it still haunts you - the names and the matches. We're a wrestling company again. And there will come a time when folks like Shawn and I will be laid out, and we won't be able to stand up. But progress isn't swapping out names. Progress is making sure the very best EARN their opportunities. And that's happening now far more than it ever had."

"How diplomatic of you. Truly", he takes Centurions clove from his hands, taking a puff himself and handing it back. Cent waves it off, and Chaos brings it back to his mouth, puffing again. "Crazy, I don't even smoke."

Centurion takes a fresh one out of his pack and lights it.

"Our talent now is as weak as its ever been. We have 'big names' on this roster that would rather sit around and watch the action than stick their big toe into it. I think you of all people know who I am referring to. We have champions who took advantage of briefcases, and then are spoon fed filler talent to pad their stats. Having one solid champion rule the roost is good for the stability of the company, right? Well, what if that champion would get beaten handedly by the other half of the roster he never gets to see? It's chaos theory at its finest."

Taking a puff of his Clove, Centurion tilts an eyebrow.

"Excuse me....but....chaos theory?"

“You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.” Chris sings the lyrics to the Bob Dylan song, snapping his fingers to the tune in his head.

Centurion and Tula look at each other, confused, then back at him.

"Yet if you do have enough wind velocity information, combined with an array of readings from barometers, thermometers, and such, you might ask a weatherman, particularly a trained meteorologist with access to state-of-the-art computers and software, to make a sound forecast......"

They look back at each other again, still confused and wondering why they invited this lunatic out here into the desolate nothingness in the first place.

"We often plan our outdoor activities these days with the help of newscasts, websites, apps, and voice assistants that provide reasonable forecasts hours or days in advance. It is rather amazing that meteorology can perform such a feat. On the other hand, if we happen to rely on a sunny forecast to schedule a picnic, and it rains instead, we don’t condemn the entire field of meteorology, or dismiss it as useless guessing. We recognize that it is an imperfect science. We recognize that it can only give us probabilities of a particular outcome, not a definitive prediction for what must come to pass. While compared to decades ago, forecasts are so much better, but they’re far from flawless. And even with advances in technology, the theory of deterministic chaos shows that they’ll never be perfect."

Cent puffs out a long drag on his Clove as Tula cocks and eyebrow.

"So, again, what the fuck exactly are you talking about?"

Chaos shifts in his seat, crushing out his clove and blowing a smoke ring in the air. He smiles as it dissipates.

"Everyone and their mother has Main and Page as a shoe in to win this thing. You me and The Rock's daughter over there are all but written off. The deck is stacked, the odds are against us. We are 2 bodies down in an event solely based on competent bodies and survival. There is a forecast that has been made long in advance. The picnic is planned, the food is pre-prepared, the confetti cannons are already stocked to the brim........."

He turns toward the two of them.....

Looking at Tula, he smiles again.

"Why do YOU feel, you of all people, that we have a snowball's chance in hell to win this thing?"

"I wouldn't bet on us. But I've been in worse fights than this."

"EXACTLY. It's an imperfect science. WE are that storm that nobody sees coming. WE are that rain that puts a damper on their parade. Nobody expects us to do diddly squat, hell, we don't even believe it.....

Centurion shrugs.

"If we won this thing, nobody would bat an eye. They wouldn't disparage the entire proclivity of the event....they'd chalk it up as a wrong guess, an imperfect prediction.......because nothing in this life, in this world, is perfect. Everything is chaos."

He stands up, flipping out his blade. Cent stands up, bracing himself. Tula scrambles into a fighting stance.

"Theo and Vinnie, they are the trained meteorologists. They already have the trophy with the names etched in. You're nothing to them but a name. If you left tomorrow, they'd thank you with a firm handshake and a head nod. But life would go on. If Main or Page, or even Warstein, left tomorrow, they'd be soaking their designer suits trying to find a suitable replacement. Pun intended."

Chris presses the blade firmly on his palm again, dragging it across the flesh. More blood, and he squeezed his hand shut.

"Have you ever heard of decaf?"

"You are content with being a rain shower, maybe even a thunderstorm. I am saying lets be the entire goddamn hurricane. Let's blow them off their posts, ruin the establish oligarchy, and lets be the most cohesive and vicious storm this place has ever experienced."

He brings the blade to the outside of his hand. The blood drops down and onto the leafy surface below.

Centurion stands up.

"I'm tired of the disrespect I've been getting around here, and I know you are, too. Hell, you're own girlfriend is dogging you. This is THE opportunity we all need. I want respect. Tula wants her shot. And you want to recover your career. This is our moment."

"See you Sunday......"

A trail of blood follows him into the dark abyss, as branches snap and leaves rustle in his wake. Centurion and Tula look at each other again, mouths agape.

"You mentioned earlier how people earn things around here? What have we truly earned? What have you truly earned. Theo clearly doesn't respect you, other wrestlers here seem to think you're on your way out. I am new at this, I know this is potentially make or break for me. A big performance here can vault me up the ranks to the realm of elite, or close to it. What does a big performance here truly do for you? You have the best win loss record in this company. They need you a hell of a lot more than you need them."

Centurion's lip curls into a snarl.

"I don't need to earn a goddamn thing. I have spent well over a decade earning, now its time to start reaping the benefits of that hard work. Maybe that lunatic is right...maybe I need to break the established order........I am Centurion, damnit, and they need to learn to put a little respect on my name!"

He bends down, picking up a leaf, stained with blood.

"They want a storm? They haven't even seen the clouds yet."

------There's Something Happening Here------

This has been the longest week in the history of the world.

That may be hyperbole, but it does feel true, doesn't it? Since the death of George Floyd at the hands of police brutality, the entire world, in the midst of a global pandemic, has been turned upside down. It is hard to truly put into words the emotions of the moment. It feels like the world is just...different. And scary.

Wrestling feels so insignificant right now. There's a generation of people on the streets, fighting for justice and peace, and here we are, a bunch of greased up assholes looking to fight each other for the fuck of it, just continuing to line the pockets of greedy capitalists and macho assholes who want to play John Wayne on the backs of those struggling to survive.

I look at everyone wrestling at War Games, and I don't see a single leader. Sure, I see captains, but I don't see a leader. A leader would have spent time showing his team what's happening in the real world. A leader would have put this whole thing into perspective, and reminded us that, yes, this maybe be important, but it's not nearly important as compared to what is going on out there.

I have a massive respect for Centurion. He started as my father's friend, but he's become a mentor to me. He's taught me a lot. But even he is guilty of this. I understand - there is a lot of pressure to come up big in this match, especially for someone with Centurion's legacy. But whether he wins or loses, he still gets to pack his bags and go home. He gets to continue on with his career, and fight his next battles.

George Floyd can't fight another battle. Neither can Treyvon Martin, or Sandra Bland, or Breonna Taylor. And neither can Hana Kamura, who had her life cut short at the age of 22, all because of horrific cyber bullying. Their stories are over. There is no redemption arc for them.

So when I hear people in this match talk about how "important" this all is, I roll my eyes. None of you are fighting for your lives here. None of you are truly risking anything by being in this match. What would Robert Main and Chris Page lose if they don't win this match? Their tag titles? No, those aren't on the line. Their pride? If they even have any.

What is Shawn Warstein risking? He could be eliminated immediately, and his life does not change. In fact, he could win the whole thing, and his life STILL does not change. That doesn't make this important. Not at all. It makes this a nice weekend activity. Like shooting hoops with your buddies. Sure, you may want to win, but your life remains exactly the same if you don't.

I am a person of color living in a racist world, but even I know how privileged I am. I had a father who supported me through thick and thin. I had a full scholarship to college. I was able to move to the continental US without a dollar in my pocket and still manage to find work and survive. I am blessed to even have this opportunity.

That's the difference between me and everyone else in this match. They NEED it, even though they truly don't. They've placed this false sense of pride and accomplishment on this event. They haven't taken any time to actually stop and think about how they got here, and how lucky they are to even be a part of this match. Me? I know I'm a lucky bitch. I shouldn't be here, but I am, and I'm going to make the most out of this opportunity. And there's a real good chance I won't come out of this thing with a victory, but that's ok. Because I will wake up in the morning with a new sense of accomplishment and a new purpose. I will know what I did right and what I did wrong, and I will be thankful for the opportunity.

Can the rest of you say the same?

"Nobody is expecting anything from me. Typical. Chris Chaos is just the washed up has been whose best days are far in the rearview. Right? Well, what if their wrong? I flourish in these types of matches. Any opportunity I have to cause chaos, I take it. Any opportunity I have to throw a wrench into the spokes of this no-so-well-maintained-bike we call a company, I take it. times have changed. There is a whole roster full of men and women in the back who don't know who Chris Chaos is other than what they've heard or been told. Who don't know what XWF WAS like, and refuse to do their research. I praise them for living in the now, but history always repeats itself.

History is on my side in these types of matches.

Have I won them all, no, but I always fuck shit up. I'm always in the discussion. When push comes to shove, Chris Chaos always seems to have a final say in the decision.

I look at men like Main and Page and I can't help but think that Centurion is right. My past does haunt me. The Shane Carver days have fucked my mind up. I have never beaten Main, and he is the only one on this roster who I've faced that I haven't. Him and Page, though, our exhange has been brief. That will always fuck with me, and I will not rest until I conqour that mountain. I climbed Mt. Caedus, Mt. Main is surely next. But will I ever get that chance? Who the hell knows.

I roll with the punches now. I take it a step at a time.

Robert Main is Tag Team Champion, and that would require me getting along with someone for more than 5 minutes to topple. He has nothing that I want other than that W. But, I want that W to cost him. Main is sitting in his cave, stroking a title belt, ruling over a division that has been reduced to ash and rubble, telling himself he won't ever lose that gold.

Maybe he won't.

But he has nothing that I want to take. Those Tag Belts aren't his pride and joy, they're his new toy.

Warstein on the other hand? Well, Warstein is going to lose this event, further lamenting all of our claims of him being a phony paper champion, and you best believe when the opportunity comes, I will strike.

Big D is a nobody who gets his rocks off on being the class clown with a smattering of serious. I just wish he was more creative. Comparing Tula to Tua? Man, D, that must have taken you hours to come up with. I'm surprised you didn't have a migrane after that one. You're a loser, whose entire career has been based around being a loser, and you have a hard on because you're on the team with the Champion of Champions? News flash, he's the biggest loser of them all. He's gonna let you down, but you don't care. You're happy as a pig in shit to even be in this event. That's the difference between you and me. I am in it to win it, you're in it to be noticed.

Everything I do, I do it to win. If I can't win the match, I win at making it a damn good contest. You're teaming with Doug Whitford as well. That in and of itself is a death sentence. Has he even said anything in two weeks? He'll disappear when the pressure mounts, and it'll be you and your coward of a 'leader' left taking the War Games dicks into your already gaping anuses. I have all the faith in the world that Centurion will get the job done, and Tula....this is big for her. She's either gonna show up or crumble. Either way, Chris Chaos is gonna ge standing with one foot on the shit and a body spray that smells like roses!

But what I really want to address in my final words is what Jenny said. I'd be lying if I said it didn't take me a bit by suprise. I mean, she went on camera, said what she said, then we shared a bed that night! I guess it truly is a dog eat dog world.

Do you really think that little tirade got you over? Do you really think people are paying attention to you now for anything other than your looks? It'll never change for you, Jen. You have all the appeal of a paper cut. It's just your nature. You have no skills other than the ones I taught you, dont you realize that? You were nothing but eye candy until I needed a tag partner and figured I'd like to see you bounce around in low cut shorts. You'll never be more than a valet, and you aren't even that good at that. How many matches have you cost me?

You are a squeaking rat, a mistake of nature and a heavy-metal bagpipe player. Your alleged parents abandoned you at birth and then died of shame in recognition of what they had done to an unsuspecting world. They were a bit late if you ask me.

Aww, sore subject?

Suck it up butter cup, and come face to face with the reality that you attacked the only person in this world who actually gives one ounce of a fuck about you. You wonder why we've been together four years and I haven't popped the question? Had sex hundreds of times and still haven't put a baby in you? Because it disgusts me. We need to trace your bloodline and terminate all siblings and cousins in order to cleanse humanity of your polluted genes. The good news is that no normal human would ever mate with you, so we won't have to go into the sewers in search of your git.

That has always been your problem, Jen. You NEED to be in the spotlight. You have nothing else to hang your hat on. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile despite your age. You are a loathsome disease, a plague. When War Games is over, forget being the Queen. Forget your little show. Forget the .000000001 worth of attention you've gained through this process. When War Games is over, you should get on your knees--which is your specialty--and thank your lucky stars you have a home to come back to.

The problem is you're focusing on the things in life that don't really matter. When I was a kid I had hopes and dreams. We all did. But over time, the daily grind gets in the way and you miss the things that really matter, even though they are right in front of you, staring you in the face. I think the next time you should ask yourself "Am I on the right track here?". If the answer is no, then shut that jizz stained mouth of yours. Not every battle needs to be fought, and you picked the wrong one this time. So maybe you could use the few brain cells you have and take advantage of the knowledge I have given you now. Good luck."

Allow me to extend a big old "congratulations" to Robert Main for not only his impending victory this Sunday, but for his fantastic promo writing skills. I mean, it's amazing how quickly he has turned Alexei into a legitimate trash talker who can suddenly form complete sentences in English.

What, you don't think I caught on to what's going on here? You took out Russian Rose because he's a bafoon and you replaced him with his not as dimwitted brother. You also slapped a script in his hand, turned on a camera, and said "dance, monkey, dance!" I'm surprised I didn't see Low Mo talking for 20 minutes straight. Either you didn't send him his lines, or he didn't check his Hotmail. Nobody checks their Hotmail!

It must be wonderful being you. This entire tournament worked out in your favor. You drafted one man who is so far up your ass I can no longer tell where one of you ends and the other begins. You drafted another that is willing to do and say whatever the fuck you want them to, like he's your very own Melania Trump. And you drafted the Television Champion who is a troll and usually doesn't give a shit, but he hates enough people in this match to want to do just enough to piss certain people off. And who are your opponents?

Well, you have whatever is left of Shane Carver, who may or may not be working for you, I don't give enough of a fuck to really look into it. You have Peter Gilmour - pretty self explanatory there. You have Tommy Gunn, who is in the match to screw Gilmour in more ways than one. You have Dick Powers who, I'll he honest, he makes me smile and I don't have a whole lot of bad things to say about the dude. And you have Hired Gun, someone so mediocre you can be forgiven if you forgot he was even in the match.

Wow. Murders row there.

So yes, chill that champagne. You have this locked up. Much like the Golden State Warriors had it locked up when they were up 3-1 on the Cavaliers. Much like the Atlanta Falcons had it locked up with they were up 28-3 on the Patriots. Much like Hillary Clinton had the election locked up in 2016. No reason to try. Might as well celebrate now.

But here's the thing. I am the Patriots. I am the Cavaliers. I am...well, I'm not Donald Trump, but you get the point.

Watching promo after promo, there seems to be very few people who think I'm going to even make it to the main event, and absolutely no one thinks I'm going to win. It's pretty incredible. I understand the chips are down and things look bad, but not even a single person saying "hey, maybe Centurion could win"? Disrespectful.

Though, I can say that about this entire roster Just disrespectful. Jenny Myst thinks she can come in from nowhere and make some snide remarks about me, even though she hasn't done a damn thing in this company? Doug Whitford thinks he can insult me just because he looks like the bastard child of Rick Moranis and Bobby Clampett. Hanari Carnes thinks he can just make shit up about me.

Dude, I never once used a racial joke to disparage you. Give me more credit than that. Your heritage is an important, valuable part of who you are. The fact that you completely suck is independent of that.

Even Ms. Direction, who has had exactly zero matches in this company, thinks she can hurl insults at me. She thinks I'm lame because I don't wear a ridiculous body suit. Whitford thinks I'm lame because I don't use slurs in my promos. Myst thinks I'm lame because I don't come to the ring on a throne expecting everyone to call me "king". These folks ain't me cus that ain't me.

Whiteness confirmed.

I'm really looking forward to this. Truly. I'm looking forward to seeing Chris Page realize that the broken shell of a man he used to work for is dead, and that while he got weaker, I got stronger. I'm looking forward to seeing the look on Big D's face when he realizes that he, once again, failed to deliver on his promise to beat me. I look forward to seeing Shawn Warstein's frustrations as he sees the man he has tried to leave in the dust ending his hopes of being a War Games champion.

Most importantly, I look forward to looking Robert Main in the eyes as he tries to figure out how it all went wrong. How his team - his partner, his Russian monkey, and his meet sack with a title on it - failed to deliver what should have been a slam dunk. Then I'll go on Twitter and brag about it. I'll send the tape to every troll on the internet who can't stand me.

And then I'll send it to Drew Archyle, may he rest in peace, so he can see just how much his former tag team partner has fallen from grace.

Oh, I'm sure the members of your team will take the loss in stride. Chris Page is a reasonable man not known for losing his cool and turning on the people closest to him. I'm sure failing to deliver for the Russian mafia won't cause any issues. I'm sure...

...well, Thunder Knuckles isn't doing to do shit about it, but still.

Ladies and gentlemen...let the War Games begin.

[Image: UdLSPlv.png]
XWF Record - 161-65-9
XWF All Time Wins Record Holder
Official XWF Legend
1x XWF Hart Champion
6x XWF X-Treme Champion
5x XWF Tag Team Champion
3x XWF World Champion
8x XWF Canadian Champion (Record for most Canadian Title reigns)
2x XWF United States Champion
1x XWF King of Anarchy
1x XWF King of Massacre
1x XWF Stable Champion
XWF Star Of The Month - May 2007
XWF Star Of The Month - July 2009
XWF Star Of The Month - December 2019
XWF Holiday Battle Royal Winner - 2007
58-25-5 Outside the XWF
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