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Abaddon · (07-06-2016)

I know. I know. The first question I'm sure the whole lot of you have to be asking, in wake of my recent alliance with Ghost Tank has to be: "who the fuck are you again anyway?". After all, I ain't been around since, what? The end of 2015? Beating Mike Emerick and some other lost cause motherfucker like it was nothing and then, poof, I was gone again. Off the grid. Out of sight, out of mind. So it goes.

Then, I'm back. Another poof, another cloud of smoke to step out from. Another room full of people who don't know who or what I am, shocked that Ghost Tank could wrangle someone in on his own free will, as opposed to his newfound bitch Shade. And what can I say? My loyalties are what they always have been; I'm loyal not to men or nations or regimes. I'm loyal to one color: green. And Ghost Tank has a lot of it.

Which isn't to say I find him appalling or dreadful or anything of the sort. Which is more than I can say about our opponent, after all.

Scully: what is there to say about you that hasn't already been said? Oh, fuck it. You won't mind a little bit of retreading, will ya? After all, your whole career's been a retread of a retread.

You're smarter than you look, Scully. I know I know, you aren't

anymore so don't take that as a crack at your temporary disability. Nah, I mean you look like a fuckin' dumbass but you have some semblance of intelligence man. Sure, you even squandered that but hey, it's a start right? See, you're smart enough to realize you're at your best when you're part of a group. You're a real team player, ain't ya? Two time tag team champ, it's the only accomplishment you got that's worth a shit but hey, who am I to talk? I ain't even got that.

But you gotta know the implications of that, don't ya? You gotta know what you're getting into, one man against two. Shit, you have a hard enough time getting the job done against one man, ain't ya? You think your tag team mastery's gonna help you against Vinnie Lane? Nah, you walked yourself right off the short bridge the second you rose to the occasion on your own two feet.

Congratulations, Scully. You did it.

And these are the consequences.

Sure, I know what you're gonna say. It's easy; originality ain't your strong suit. You're gonna call Ghost Tank Ghost Wank, call him gay, insinuate we're fucking each other behind closed doors. All that shit you do to everyone, even when they smack your fucking head right off your shoulders. It's the unshakable confidence most of those scrawny neckbearded autists in the audience wish they could have, which is why they hate you and the rest of The Union.

But I don't hate ya. Even if you're the most annoying son of a bitch I've seen in a long while. Nah, don't care enough about ya to hate ya.

I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Which it will. This week, when you're forced to confront the fact that for all the fluke wins and fauxmentum you've been gathering, there's no cure for your inability to make the most out of any opportunities that don't involve you sharing the weight with someone else. You don't have anyone else to fall back on. So you're gonna fall to the mat.

Think about it, Scully. Really, truly think about it. This is the world you made for yourself. The one where you're just biding your time. Waiting for the time to come when you fall once more. Here's the thing, though. Listen up and listen good, I want to make sure you hear me loud and fucking clear.

That time's coming much sooner than you think it is. This Wednesday is when you'll fall, Scully. Think about it: you put quite possibly the most athletically gifted man in the XWF across from you. Rested. Primed. Ready. He already beat your boy, didn't he? Took him out behind the woodshed and put him down not once, but twice. Knocked him out for the ten count.

You have one of, if not the biggest man in the XWF. Give him the ability to dismantle you with the greatest of ease by throwing your around like it was nothing. Grace him with the natural agility to fly through the air like a much smaller man. Like myself. Give him the ruthlessness and the brutal nature that drives him to not just want to beat you, but break you. Bend you. Make you into his bitch. Make you into Shade 2.

Then add in me. The wild card. The maniac, the one who has no gameplan outside of the obvious: "hurt this cunt". And hurt you I will. I'm going to drag you over the coals, Scully. I'm going to beat you. Batter you. Maim you until Hell sounds like a more desirable alternative than keeping on living.

Then add in your established affinity for choking in high pressure situations and what does this all equate to? You, losing. No, not even just that, you won't retain even that much dignity.

You, lying broken and twisted on the mat as Ghost Tank and I stand over you. You, dragging your beaten corpse right before Vinnie before collapsing again. The weight of everything falling atop you in one swift motion. Your knees buckle before giving out. Your spine snaps from the weight. You hit the floor once again only this time, you don't get back up.

This is your future, Scully. Just remember: you wanted this. Well, not this exactly but you wanted the thing that led you here. You should've seen this one coming, but of course, you didn't. Tell me: was it worth it?

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