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Centurion · (06-17-2020)

(The world is in turmoil.

I’m sure you didn’t need the exposition of a roleplay to tell you that. You can’t turn on the television or log onto social media without seeing the hundreds of negative headlines that are released on a daily basis. For some, it’s like every day is a never ending nightmare of misery.

It hasn’t been quite that bad for Centurion…but it’s close.

We open up inside the home of Nellie Cortinovis in Wildwood Crest, New Jersey. There, we hear the television on in the background, talking about the current protests and riots that are happening around the country. Sitting at a table in the dining room is Centurion, who is still tapped up from some of the beating he took at War Games. Also sitting at the table is Nellie and Erin Morgan, with Genevieve Tate and Allison Cortinovis both leaning up against the wall, overlooking the proceedings.

Sitting in front of Centurion on the table are two documents. On one side, there is a large book of files. On the cover is the logo of the National Intelligence Service of Greece, with the words Top Secret stamped on it. At the bottom of the cover are the words “The Golden Dawn”. It’s the intelligence file on Centurion’s father and the organization he was connected to.

On the other side of him is a registered letter, very neatly typed up on a professional letterhead. The letterhead is an old Centurion Enterprises letterhead, meant to mock Centurion and the company he no longer controls. The letter reads:

“Dear Andy,
You have had your fun, but I am starting to get questions about your future with the company. I have grown tired of telling people that you will never return; therefore, I have a demand: Relinquish the Hart Title and return to your cabin in Pennsylvania. Do not tell anyone you are leaving or why. If you go to the police or the press with this, or if you refuse to do what is asked, I will release the photos of your future daughter-in-law, and permanently end your daughter’s political career.

All the best,
George”

The five just remain in silence as no one knows what the next move should be. Centurion just has his head down in defeat. Erin is holding Nellie’s hand. But Nellie looks furious.)

Nellie: No. We’re not doing this.

(Centurion sighs and rubs his eyes.)

Centurion: He’s dead serious. He’s starting to feel the heat, and this is his way of trying to get me to go away without him having to put any real effort into things. I have no doubt in my mind that he would send these out. Hell, I’m assuming he has several copies made and stuffed in envelopes, ready to go.

Nellie: So? Let him.

Centurion: Nel…

Nellie: Don’t give me some speech about how this “isn’t about me”. It is. It’s about me and it’s about Erin, and the last thing we’re going to do is let us be blackmailed by an overcompensating asshole with a revenge fetish.

Centurion: And I’M not going to let you throw away your future because of a ten year old grudge that I wasn’t able to take care of.

Nellie: Well then, I guess we’re at an impasse here.

(The room falls silent once again, with the exception of the news broadcast. Centurion sits back in his chair and puts both of his hands over his face before letting out a yell.)

Centurion: Ahhhh!! I fucking hate this. This is why I should never have come back.

Nellie: Oh, shut up. You can sit there and cry all day, or we can come up with a plan.

(Centurion immediately silences. Nellie’s right – the self-defeating attitude will get them nowhere, and Nellie seems headstrong in the idea that they’re not going to give in to George Lattimore’s demands.)

Erin: Why don’t you just sue them for blackmail?

Centurion: Because George will just release the photos anyway. Besides, he hides behind his team of lawyers who know every twist and turns of the law. He keeps about five of them on retainer at all times. I once heard he started development in a federally protected wetlands, and somehow got away with it under some 19th century mineral law that granted him access to all the resources underneath. Trump might be able to shoot someone on Fifth Avenue and not lose any support, but these lawyers would make sure he got away with it.

(Nellie taps her fingers on the table for a few seconds before leaning back in her chair. She rubs her hands through her hair and takes a few deep breaths as the room goes silent again. Everyone in the room just sort of looks at each other, but no one says a word. A few minutes pass, and eventually Nellie just puts her head down on the table. Thoughts swirl around in her head, but none of them clear. It is just noise; however, the voice of a protester on the television eventually breaks through the noise, and is heard as clear as day.)

Protester: The people who oppress you, the people who hold power over you, they’re not going to give you anything! A person has never left the bonds of oppression by asking nicely. You have to stand up and fight for it! My brothers and sisters, they’re standing up and fighting! People of all races, creeds, backgrounds – they’re standing up and they’re fighting! And the media, and the politicians, they will all vilify us, but we can’t just sit back anymore and let people walk all over us!

(As if a lightbulb goes off in her head, Nellie lifts her head up from the table. She glances over at the television, then over at the others in the room, who continue to look despondent.)

Nellie: Dad, who’s that goofy guy in the mask in the XWF?

Centurion: You’re going to have to be more specific than that.

Nellie: The dude who hangs out with Shane

. The one you said looks like a lazy ninja.

Centurion: Hired Gun?

(Nellie quickly reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. She frantically begins searching for something, while the rest of the room look at her, confused.)

Centurion: What are you doing?

Nellie: You said he hides behind his team of lawyers, right?

Centurion: …what are you getting at?

(Nellie ignores Centurion, and instead slides her phone over to Erin.)

Nellie: How long would it take you to make a few of these?

Erin: Uh, I don’t know. If you got the supplies today, I’d say…two or three days, maybe? The pattern is easy enough – it’s cutting it out that’s going to take the most time.

Centurion: Nell Bell…

Nellie: We can’t just let people walk all over us, Dad.

(Nellie takes her phone and slides it over to Centurion. He looks at it and raises an eyebrow.)

[Image: il_570xN.1873994762_v981.jpg]

Centurion: …what do you have in mind?

------Yee Haw Mother Fuckers------

Alright, go on. Get your giggles out of the way now.

Yes, I failed. Miserably. Not only did I not come away as the War Games winner, but I wasn’t even able to lead my team to victory against Shawn Warstein’s team. And I can make all the excuses in the world and throw everyone under the bus, but the reality is, I was the captain, and I couldn’t get the job done. I couldn’t lead my team to victory. That’s on me.

So yes, Big D, you were able to get “the last laugh” as you saw me do the same thing I ragged on you for one year prior. Yes, Shawn, you can go on Twitter and cut a promo saying how you’re STILL a step above me, and brag to all your friends that I’m only relevant because of you. Yes, Doug Whitford…

…actually, you can still go fuck yourself.

I was humbled. There’s no two ways about it. I had spent week after week tossing aside so many different challengers that I assumed I had completely passed everyone on the roster. I was invincible. I was…well, I was back to being the old me. The very thing that set me down the wrong path to begin with.

I came back into this company, looking to take things one step at a time. I knew my flaws and my failings, and I was set to make up for them. I wanted to right the wrongs, while simultaneously giving my career one last chance at a reboot. I was able to succeed because I kept my goals in front of me, and because I wasn’t getting ahead of myself. Then I became a cocky son of a bitch, and I forgot why I came back in the first place. And after two big matches, where I didn’t just fall short, but I didn’t even come close, well…it put things into perspective for me.

That’s what makes this match such an important one. I’m not coming in as the hot shit anymore. I don’t have a win streak at my back, propelling me up the roster and into the Universal Title picture. I no longer see a record setting reign as Hart Champion as an afterthought. For the first time since XX, I’m actually…vulnerable. My career can go on one of two paths after this match – either I get my feet back from under me, and I can regain the momentum I had throughout the beginning of 2020, or I will lose my title, and spiral down the ladder, all the way until I’m fighting opening matches on Anarchy against Mini Morbid.

That’s why this match HAD to be against Hired Gun.

I wasn’t going to get Shane

. Shane

doesn’t even exist anymore. I wanted to fight the mastermind behind the world era in XWF history, not some braindead zombie that can’t even talk. As far as I’m concerned, Shane

died before I ever had the chance to extract my revenge.

But Hired Gun? Well, he’s the next best thing.

First of all, I want to acknowledge that I don’t even know if I’m facing the original Hired Gun. I assume I am, but seeing as he’s dressed head to toe in black and never shows his face, it could be Barney Green for all I know. There was already a second Hired Gun that they literally called “Hired Gun II”, so anything is possible; however, for the sake of argument, I will assume that this is the original Hired Gun. The Hired Gun that has been Shane

’s muscle for a very long time.

You know, Hired Gun comes from a long line of masked wrestlers that scared the hell out of people back in the day. Hired Gun, Weapon: Ashen, Hired Sword (who was Tomoko during her weird ninja phase), Splinter Cell – all folks that would show up out of nowhere and kick major ass. It was exhausting and unoriginal, but what was most frustrating about it was the fact that no one could do anything about it. Weapon: Ashen was an absolute psycho who dominated everyone in front of him, and Splinter Cell turned out Fuzz, but like, Fuzz with meth head strength, so…Super Saiyan Fuzz. And Hired Gun? The only thing that stopped him from running rough shot over the XWF was himself.

And it’s not like he’s fallen from grace or anything like that. He just doesn’t give a shit. He can still put in a great performance if he decides to, but victories and title belts don’t really matter that much to him. He just wants to have “fun”, and that “fun” entails being a massive troll and causing harm to as many people as possible.

And yet, given how far back his career has spanned, given he was always friends with people I wouldn’t piss on if they were on fire, and given our personalities are wildly different from one another and he likely has zero respect for me as a competitor or as a human being…we never faced each other in the ring. That’s why I chose him. Because I need to know.

Week after week, I keep getting told my title run isn’t “anything special”. I’m told I face a bunch of nobodies, and that I’m the “king of the midcard”, and that I’m as bland of an untoasted, unbuttered bagel. And for a while, it was easy for me to just tell people to fuck off and bury themselves in the sand, but something happens to your brain when you’re told something over and over and over again. You kind of begin to think it might be true. Then, when you step up to face the biggest challenge of your career, and you fall flat on your face, the voices just creep louder and louder into your head.

Hired Gun represents everything I need to get past. He’s a really good wrestler that has very little respect for the business itself. He’s half evil prick and half internet troll that gives fewer than zero fucks about pretty much everything. He’s a shit talker that I’m sure will have PLENTY to say about me and how much I suck. And he’s respected by the locker room – at least, by those that have seen him wrestle.

I know you’re licking your chops right now, Gun…if you have chops. To be honest, I’m assuming you’re a human being under that mask, but given this is the XWF, it’s just as likely that you’re some kind of lizard creature or robot or something like that. Regardless, I know you’re absolutely giddy right now, because you see an opportunity to finally toss me out with the trash. You have the chance to render me into nothing more than a husk of a human being – a shell of a legend on his dying breath. And while many others before you have said they were going to do that exact same thing, you have the stones to do it.

Question is, how do you plan on approaching this match? Are you going to be your normal self – strutting to the ring without a care in the world, potentially tossing back a few shots or whatever it is you use in that weird body of yours to get loose. Or, are you going to take me seriously? Approach me as a legitimate threat. I ask these questions out loud, but I already know your answer. You’re going to see me as nothing more than pray. Something to pick apart and leave as bones in the middle of the ring. And that’s fine, because I don’t see you as someone who is actually going to take my title from me. I see you as the first step toward getting back on the road. I see you as the opening act – the first of many “stronger” opponents that I will put away, and that I can use to strengthen my resume.

Oh, and apparently I get to choose the match stipulation, too. That’s new. They must have thought giving that kind of power only to the TV champion was hurting ratings on the main show, so they decided to extend it to the Hart Champion, as well. That’s fine with me. Normally, in these circumstances, I would vote for just a pain old, regular match; however, two weeks after I’m done with you, I have a War of Independence match with NAZI, and I feel like I need a little bit of a warm up within confined spaces. So, this will be a cage match.

Ah, but not just any cage match. See, you’re an old school guy, Gun, just like I am. So I’ve decided to take this old school – REALLY old school. I’m talking Lon Chaney/Otto Ludwig from 1936 old school, because instead of a steel cage that comes down from the roof, the ring with be surrounded in…chicken wire. Just like the old carnie days. Why? Because why the fuck not. It amuses me greatly, and I love the idea of XWF management getting a bunch of geeks together to try and put together a chickenwire fence in the middle of a wrestling show.

You will be one of two people, Gun. You will either be my beginning, or my end. You will be the beginning of my comeback, or the end of my reign. Look yourself in the eyes…if you even have eyes…and ask yourself this question – are you able to do something no one else has been able to do in 20 years. Are you able to shut Centurion up? Are you able to physically punish me to the point where I no longer wish to compete? Because, let me tell you, that’s what you’re going to have to do to me if you want to take this Hart Title out of my hands. Call it “worthless”, whatever – it’s mine, and you’re going to need to damn near kill me if you’re going to take this away from me.

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