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AaronReign · (07-26-2014)

The screen starts off black...pitch black. Suddenly, light shoos away the darkness and a training room appears. It looks like someone's basement, a basement with a wrestling ring smack-dab in the middle surrounded by all kinds of training equipment: a squatting rack, a benching rack, a leg press, a curling bar, and things that aren't quite recognizable from the angle given. The camera is slowly but surely carried to the ring, placed on the apron, and pulled through the ropes by a pair of hands, the first notion of a human being shown so far. The camera is turned to face a chest. Black wrestling tights with olive green stripes are barely shown on screen as the camera is set snugly between the second and third turnbuckle pad in one of the corners. The figure backs up, showing a little more of his body and his gear until his face his shown...until Aaron Reign looks directly into the camera, a scowl, as always, plainly featured.

"I found out last night that on Wednesday Warfare, I'm in my first official match. Of course, my luck dictates that it's going to have to be a tag match. I'm getting teamed with Zoey Williams and Duke Nukem against a psychopathic jackass that talks a MASSIVE game but can't back a single bit of it up in the ring, a guy who's been here longer than I have and hasn't been seen or heard from even once, and Socrates. Are you wondering why I didn't find some amazing quip to use for him? Well, that's because I don't know what to make of Socrates. Nevertheless, he actually seems to be the most respectable of all three of my opponents, and that's coming from one promo. Get it together Gator."

Reign paces the ring for a minute or two, before finally electing to sit down in the ring, Indian style.

"This match just showcases exactly what I was talking about last night. Gimmicks...idiotic, unrealistic gimmicks. I'm not here to bullshit around, I'm here to wrestle. I don't carry around a pants-pissing druggie cameraman so I can pretend to be a badass. I don't need to set some random person's house on fire to make an impact; all I need to do is get in that ring, hit my opponent with Heartbreak, and cover him for 1...2...3 seconds. If I'm feeling especially angry that night, I can work on their legs until I'm ready to put them in Sorrow's Grip...until they're ready to slap the mat with their hand like a child throwing a tantrum."

"The first person I feel like I need to address is Gator. You make WAY too may references to the swamps, to the bayous of Louisiana when that English accent shines through every single time you shoot a crappy promo. Ever since you arrived here in the XWF earlier this month, you've run your mouth and run your mouth some more. And for what? A pinfall victory over enhancement talent in your first match and a loss to a guy whose entire gimmick revolves around smoking pot? You tout that you were so successful in this J-Pro organization. You say that you were the best, that you were absolutely amazing. I've yet to see that here in America. I've went back and I've watched every promo you've cut here so far, and they're pathetic. You're a killer? No...you're a fraud. You spend your time taking road trips with your lackey instead of training, burning people's houses down instead of studying the game, and spouting out unwarranted trash talk instead of actually...getting...better. When we get in this ring Wednesday, I want you to bring your A-game. I'm going to do my damndest to make it just me and you for a while, and we'll see what's better: Heartbreak or a Disaster Drop. Sorrow's Grip or Snap Back. No amount of LSD is going to help you when it's just us."

Reign shuffles a little restlessly in his sitting position, before continuing.

"Now...Socrates. I don't have nearly as much to work on with you, but I will say this. You strike me as the most pure-wrestler your team has on the table right now, and I hope after I see more of your work, I don't have to retract my statement. Greece doesn't produce the best wrestlers out there, so I'm looking forward to seeing you attempt to break that mold. If you fail...well then, I'm just gonna have to show you how much a Somber Reign hurts. You'll feel like you're in The Clouds."

"And finally, Kyle Star. You've done nothing since you got here, and I'm expecting you to stay nothing. Hell, I might pull a Gator and pin you 1, 2, 3 in the ring Wednesday. Of course, I'm not too much a fan of pinning jobbers in my first match. Kyle Star..."

Reign actually snickers a little bit.

"What a fucking joke."

He composes himself, returning to the same scowl he had before.

"I want this match out of the way. I want to move on to more serious competition, instead of the XWF gimmick battle royal. If I have to team up with a "hitman" and a glorified fan girl named after a guy who used to go by Skip freaking Sheffield, so be it. One thing I'm going to promise though...this isn't going to be a circus. I'm not bringing lube and a dildo to the ring. I'm not bringing a gun, or a knife, or a lackey. I'm bringing 275 pounds of wrestler to the ring, and I suggest the other team does something similar. Cut the bullshit, this is wrestling."

Aaron Reign stands back up and stretches a bit, before walking back over to the camera. He picks it up so that that only his face is showing, reminiscent of last night, and stares into the screen for a second, before turning the camera off.

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