X-treme Wrestling Federation

We open on a simple scene - a spotlight, and an hourglass on top of a wooden table. The sands of the hourglass pour from the top to the bottom slowly, but consistently. 

Out of the darkness from behind the table steps Centurion, the sound of his shoes clicking on the hardwood underneath. Centurion crouches down behind the hourglass and looks at it as he speaks to the camera.

“They say Father Time always wins. He's undefeated. So far, I have been holding my own against the old bastard, but there's only so much you can do before he finishes you off, and let me tell you…I know he's winding up.”

Centurion cringes and shakes his head.

“That sounds a lot dirtier than I expected it to…hell, you know what I mean.

Since Free For All, when I was ferociously attacked by Madison Dyson and taken out of the First Blood Battle Royale, the XWF has been inundated with a flood of new talent. And it's not just new talent, but INCREDIBLE talent - Vhodka Black, Bert McIlroy, Sloane Taylor, Sebastian Overholt Prince - all people I know first hand that have wrestling skills oozing out of their eyeballs. Add them to the list of folks like Dionysus, Sean Parker, and the returning Raion Kido, and it's clear the XWF is quickly becoming the place where free agents want to sign. The roster is getting younger, stronger, faster…

And old folks like me are clinging on for dear life.”

Centurion takes a deep breath as he stands up. He brushes off his suit jacket and his pants before continuing.

“There will come a time, and it will be sooner rather than later, when I'm completely run out of this place. I won't be able to keep up with the wrestlers that come in. I won't be wanted, I won't be useful, and Theo Pryce will have to take be out back and Old Yeller my ass…

…But that time is not now.”

In one swift action, Centurion hits a thrust kick onto the hourglass, causing it to fly off into the darkness and shatter.

“When I came back, I had a lofty goal that I set for myself - save Anarchy. At the time, I didn't know what that really meant, other than to beat Edward and force Jett Sterling to change the direction of the show into one that's more serious. Now, however, I don't care about Jett Sterling or Edward or even the Anarchy Title. There's only one thing on my mind now…”

Centurion rubs the scar just above his eyebrow that was caused by Madison Dyson’s sneak attack.

“Of course, I'm not going to just be handed what I want. I know how this business works. Jett needs to make money, and there's money in watching me squirm and suffer while Madison sits back and enjoys getting her toes sucked by demons. I'm going to have to go through the entire roster - again - if I want one more match with the Wicked Witch Of The West.

That's where you come in, Oz. Yes, I'm focusing specifically on you, Oz, because I know what you're capable of. There is a possibility that I completely overlook Ricky Steinberg, and he shows up like a rabid pitbull and beats the shit out of both of us, and if that happens, then fair play to him. I'm a gambler, though, and I am willing to put money on the fact that Steinberg is in this match solely to take the fall for one of the true contenders in this match.

Oz, I'm going to say four words that I know you've been dying to hear. Four words that the rest of this roster is too chicken shit to say.”

Centurion slowly walks towards the camera, then deadpan looks directly into it, with the camera zoomed close to his face.

“I. Believe. In. You.”

Centurion takes a few steps back and the camera pans out.

“Now, I still think you're a weird son of a bitch, but I also think you have the power and the ability to change the very fabric of Thursday Night Anarchy. I've seen you do it once before, and there's nothing stopping you from doing it again.

Nothing, other than yourself.

You could easily putting your abilities to good use, but you seem content just sort of…hanging out. The old Oz would have kicked the door down to Sterling’s office and demanded respect. This Oz? I doubt Jett Sterling even knows who you are, other than a name on a roster sheet. You're doing other people's bidding and you aren't even aware of it. You could be the king, but since you're content on being a knight, you ended up becoming nothing more than a pawn. 

And trust me, Oz, if you think this version of yourself has ANY chance of standing in my way, I'm afraid you're going to be in for another disappointment.

I hope Anarchy provides something for you, Oz. I hope it gives you the swift kick in the ass you need in order to revitalize your career. I hope, after I beat you, you end up flipping over Jett Sterling's car and demanding he utilize you better than you're being used now.

Or, don't. Be content just being “some guy”. It honestly doesn't REALLY matter to me, because the only thing I give a shit about now if taking out that psycho bitch Dyson, and you, Oz, as well as that dingbat Ricky Steinberg, are nothing more than obstacles that are ne
xt on the list to meet their…