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Robert "The Omega" Main · (06-16-2019)

Blackwater….

Robert sighs

Let me ask a Gods honest question, are either one of you trying? I’m asking a fundamental inquisition here. Is this the very best the two of you have to offer me? Tossing shit at the wall expecting it to stick won’t work against a man like me. This match is a farce a joke and will forever be a black eye on this company. This is bush-league, Micky Mouse, horse shit. Thank God this company has a saving grace like myself. The world will tune in just to watch me massacre both of you. I’ve cut two exceptional promos now, you two, on the other hand, are damn near incapable of putting a sentence together let alone cutting a promo that’s worth a shit. You two spineless, substandard wrestlers are going to get manhandled by a once in a lifetime athlete. Blackwater, so you called my match with The Engineer, do I remember? No? Do I care? Absolutely not. Tell me what you calling my match with Engy has to do with this upcoming match on Warfare. You uttered a few words and now I am supposed to be pissing down my leg? The only thing you are going to take from me is an ass whooping of a lifetime.

Guy’s like you will never send shivers down my spine, I overlook people like you day in and out. I don’t have time for second-rate failures. I mean come on guy.. What’s next? Are you going to start wishing upon every star in the night sky? Freaking idiot.. Here’s the controversy going in ladies. I’m going to address the elephant in the room for BOTH of you. What I am about to say, is 100% the unvarnished truth. Each one of you is coming at me like you did something so monumental and I should be paying tribute. I’ll never pay homage to men who are fortunate to be where they are. The two of you have done NOTHING to warrant a shot at the Universal Championship. You’re in this match because you both decided to open your mouths and say I’ll be a captain. Every heard of dumb luck? Happenstance ring a bell here gentlemen? Blackwater was second to last ladies and gentlemen. Where’s the precipitation trophy. Oh, this fucking match is the reward for being unsuccessful. Losing is losing dumb ass.

All I’ve heard is a lengthy drawn out history lecture told over and over and over and over. Blackwater who gives a shit about a Championship you obtained in your second match eons ago. You carried it for what “eighty-four” days or some shit? What an accolade there bud.. I bet that was an awe-inspiring task holding a Championship just short of three months. Would you like a Scooby snack? Or for me to tell you congratulations, awesome work, keep it up? Bravo? If I fumbled away a Championship that quickly I’d hang up the boots because I couldn’t face the embarrassment. I’m not a man that seeks moral victories if you're not first your last.

Robert can be heard clapping

Try holding a Championship for 280 days, better yet try holding the Universal Championship for 190 days. Like I said you’ve done nothing in comparison to me. You are nothing more than a drop in the bucket. Let’s say you did somehow triumph over me, what happens Blackwater? I’ll tell you what happens, you succumb to the compressing weight and relinquish the Championship in your very first defense. The Universal Championship falls back into the dark days, getting tossed around like a hot potato. You declare that you are admirable of holding the Championship, Blackwater the burden of the Championship alone would buckle those puny knees. You can’t handle the squeezing pressure of being a prize-winning wrestler, the weight of the world would grind you into the ground day fucking one. Men like you and Big D, are C—talent on a good day. You both are deadbeats, and as long as I grace an XWF ring you’ll continue to be just that. Born losers. What’s next oh yeah. You buy into that I’m hand picking my opponents.

Okay, I’ll bite.

I wish I was because this match doesn’t do a damn thing for my career. Was Chris Chaos handpicked? Funny how expeditiously we draw a blank when talking tough. Blackwater, do you know what happens if you faced Chris Chaos at March Madness? You ever heard of a body bag? Yeah, you’d be in one of those things. What about Griffin The Mechanic" MacAlister? He’d throw a boots party so enormous they’d be serving cake. Or how about I go a step further? What about my match after you against a legend in Chris Page? Easy pickings, right? Yet I’m the paper Champion? Donovan at the very least I can be called a double Champion. Not a dog searching for table scraps from the adult's table. Warfare you’ll witness the paper Champion steamroll your ass. What’s grand is you assume picking minuscule things out of my past will change the outcome of this match. Take the Tag Team Championships for instance, harassing me about what we are doing with them. What you should worry about is staying in your own fucking lane before you get incapacitated. Tell you what Blackwater get one of your

brothers and sign up for the Tag torment and I’ll polish you off one more time. It’s not that I can’t handle being booked in two matches, that’s not it at all. It’s foolish, this game we play is like chess Blackwater. The catch-22 for you is your always in checkmate.

The camera steadily pans backwards revealing a dingy prison cell. The walls were thick metal rods with just enough distance between them to get an arm through. The foul smell of sewage hung heavy in the humid air. In the indistinguishable gloom of the old prison sat silhouetted figure, large and unmoving. The shadowy figure is crouch against the concrete breathing easily. The phantom stands revealing the brilliant shine of the Universal Championship snuggly around its waist. A few long moments pass by, now figure is feet away from the camera, the white of two eyes can be seen. Robert is now standing face to face with the camera locked behind cold iron. Off in the distance, the lights flickered a few times before shutting off completely. The muffled sound of water dripping from a dilapidated drain pipe splashed into a puddle on the floor.

In all the sorrow all Robert could make out were the four iron bars and three concrete walls that locked him in. He glanced over his shoulder for a split second looking over the cell. What a somber, uncompassionate place this is locked away and left to die. A forsaken cell, much like the one three men will be trapped in on Warfare. He understood man can live without freedoms, man can sway in-between fantasies, he can construct his own urban myths and his own extraordinary reality, he can soar like an eagle, he can ascend a mountain in his hallucination jumping from the very top surviving the fall. But this isn’t a mental visualization or a fantasy, its reality and Robert wins every time. These two men are in a match they can never escape, no matter how hard either man tries, they will never outrun the swift hand of “The Omega”. Donovan and Big D can howl in terror, yell at the top of their lungs, it will all come to an end when Robert decides.

When you become Universal Champion people in hell will get their ice water. Oh, and by the way you are correct if Drew didn’t turn on the camera I wouldn’t say shit. This whole thing is about as entertaining as watching fly’s fuck. This entire thing is a monumental waste of my time. You want to browbeat Drew like he is some disadvantaged debacle like yourself. The man is unbeaten in XWF competition. Seeing how you have a photographic memory, and all cast your feeble mind back to he was put in a coma for nearly a year? Forgot that one, didn’t we? Anytime you want a piece of Drew he’ll hand you your ass so fast you’ll wonder what happened when you wake up in the ambulance. See you can’t assault me directly Donovan, because there isn’t anything to criticize. When it’s all on the line and my number is called I do one thing prevail. All you have is ambushing my friends, the Championships I wield, when they’re defended and who they were defended against. You’ve got nothing at all. Your points are nonexistent. Belittling my opponents, my friends and the Championships won’t defeat me in the ring.

So, what do you resort to? Made up stories and calling me names. Talking about the way I look like we are in a beauty contest. You want to talk about someone getting fucked? Pal, I’m going to bed you over right in front of the world and make you my bitch, and there isn’t a damn thing that you can do about it. Besides, take it. This she-devil approach you got going on will be your demise. I don’t play games in the ring Donovan. This is who I am, inside the ring, and out. I’m as real as it gets. Being a Champion is ingrained in my DNA. I’ll never talk out of both sides of my mouth or backtrack, I’ll never make one false claim. When I say I’m going to shatter you in the most devastating way possible. Count on just that. There’s no double-dealing. I tell you how it is, and how it’s going to be. When I say I can wrestle circles around you, I fucking mean it. Donovan have you ever even had a championship caliber match?

This insignificant match will be forgotten as soon as I’m done wreaking ten types of havoc. Omitted just like everything else that you’ve done here in the XWF. I’ll erase you from existence when it’s all settled you’ll fall between the cracks all the way back down to the bottom of the barrel when you belong. I’ve wrestled the most predominant wrestlers all over the world. I don’t need to scout or pretend I care against a never was. I can see this for what it is. You’re a wrestler past his prime. Trying every so mightily to stay in the spotlight that never shined on you in the first place. Blackwater, I know what you are. I’m talking to a coward, a thief, a liar. A weak broken-down shell of a man, I’m talking to the insignificant. At the end of the night, it’s going to be real tough walking out with the Universal Championship when your laying dead center staring up at the lights wondering what’s next. After failing in your greatest moment. In the meantime just do us all a favor and SHUT UP!

Whistling can be heard off in the distance and concludes at Robert’s cell. Drew is standing there in a full corrections officer’s uniform with one half of the Tag Team Championships around his waist. Drew pops his neck from side to side while twirling a police baton for a few seconds peering down the corridor. He then squints his eyes leisurely leering towards Roberts cell, puckering his chin shaking his head a few times opening the cell door. Drew looks Robert up and down before smirking turning his back and walking away still swinging his baton and now whistling a different tune.

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