Post by Truth on Jul 2, 2013 15:09:19 GMT -5
Durham, England – 16/1/2010
[/u][/center][/color]Fade in. The setting is a dingy little prison cell where a younger Truth sits at the foot of his bed. The only light comes from a barred window near the ceiling, which baths the scene in an eerie pale moonlight. His gaze drifts from wall to wall, a sombre expression on his face. This trance-like state, deep in thought, is only broken when the sobbing of a convict echos throughout the corridors, provoking jeers and laughter from other inmates. Truth puts his thumb and fore finger to the bridge of his nose and sighs. He then takes a kneeling position on the cold granite floor and begins a series of push-ups. As he relentlessly presses on with this exercise regime, the scene fades to black.
xXx
Three years locked up will change anyone.
Each and every night, I would stare at the walls of my six by eight cell and contemplate whether it was worth it. The thrill of violence and easy money. Reputation in my ends. Was it worth risking freedom? By the end of my sentence, that internal debate had been settled and the answer was obvious. I couldn’t throw my life away. Not with such potential.
I re-entered society a changed man. A lot of ex-cons give that same line and are back inside in months, but my actions prove I mean it. I knew if I went back to northwest, blood would be spilled. Too many people want me dead. Besides, temptation would come creeping back when surrounded by all the shotters. The only way to stay clean and start fresh was to find a new outlet with the same adrenaline rush.
There was only one viable option for a man like me.
Wrestling.
Each and every night, I would stare at the walls of my six by eight cell and contemplate whether it was worth it. The thrill of violence and easy money. Reputation in my ends. Was it worth risking freedom? By the end of my sentence, that internal debate had been settled and the answer was obvious. I couldn’t throw my life away. Not with such potential.
I re-entered society a changed man. A lot of ex-cons give that same line and are back inside in months, but my actions prove I mean it. I knew if I went back to northwest, blood would be spilled. Too many people want me dead. Besides, temptation would come creeping back when surrounded by all the shotters. The only way to stay clean and start fresh was to find a new outlet with the same adrenaline rush.
There was only one viable option for a man like me.
Wrestling.
xXx
Baltimore, Maryland – 20/6/2013
[/u][/center][/color]Fade in. The setting is an upscale office in the heart of Baltimore’s financial district. The room is well furnished with a dark mahogany desk, matching chairs, modern art paintings and the odd potted plant. Daniel Silverstein, a balding middle-aged lawyer, is sat behind the desk, hammering laptop keys as he struggles to reply to his countless emails. Suddenly the office door swings open to reveal Truth. The burly wrestler enters the room as Silverstein sits back into his chair.
Silverstein: You know, you could knock…
Truth offers a momentary smirk before taking a seat opposite the immigration lawyer.
Truth: So what’s the verdict?
Silverstein: Good news. I’ve managed to negotiate a temporary visa but it does require you to exercise some restraint. Consider this probation. You get picked up for ANYTHING and you’re on the next flight back to England.
Truth: Seems a little harsh.
Silverstein: I’m afraid that’s the best I can do. You better stay out of trouble.
Truth: Tell me, what does immigration control know about our… arrangement?
The lawyer’s eyes narrow as he leans forward once again.
Silverstein: Listen to me, you’re damn lucky. America doesn’t want trash like you.
Truth: Probably doesn’t want swindling tax cheats either.
With that, Silverstein’s whole demeanour changes. Truth almost chuckles to himself as the lawyer nervously polishes his spectacles with his tie.
Truth: I just wasted three years inside. Three long years. I’m not here to cause any trouble. So you and your proud nation don’t have to worry about me. But there’s a BIG difference between speeding and GBH. Do you understand?
Silverstein: I told you, that’s the best I can do! I’m sorry but my hands are tied.
Truth: For all the money I’ve parted ways with, I have a right to be disappointed.
With beads of sweat forming at his temples, Silverstein motions to a folder on his desk.
Silverstein: Just take your documents and get out of here, I’m a busy man.
They sit in silence, each staring the other down. Truth then suddenly snaps forward and grabs Silverstein by the throat with both hands. The frightened lawyer tries to protest but only stutters incoherently. Truth pulls him halfway over his desk, scattering the paperwork everywhere.
Truth: I’m a reasonable man, Mr. Silverstein, but your service has been inadequate. How did you spend my three grand? A weekend away with the wife? Perhaps tuition fees for your snivelling little brat? Maybe that fancy suit you’re wearing?
Silverstein: Please… stop… I can’t…
Truth: I can’t stand people like you. Wealthy crooks, who validate themselves by material gain, and then have the audacity to look down on someone else for the clothes they wear. That Rolex watch doesn’t make you any better than the niggas hustling in the projects. You’re just another criminal, so lose the self-righteousness when talking to me.
Silverstein: OK, OK… I apologize…
Truth: I don’t want apologies. I want answers. I want the Truth.
Silverstein: I need… more time…
Truth lets go and Silverstein falls backwards into his seat. Gasping for air, the lawyer instantly begins massaging his aching neck while Truth looms over him ominously.
Truth: You got a week. Then I expect what we agreed on.
Truth leans down, picks up his folder and makes his way towards the exit. In the doorway, he stops and looks back over his shoulder at Silverstein.
Truth: You’re the one who’s damn lucky. The old me would have left you comatose.
Truth leaves and when the door closes fully, Silverstein lets out a long sigh of relief. The scene fades to black as he runs his hands through his thinning hair.
xXx
Justice Hawx. What does justice really mean to you?
You present this façade of fairness, equity and righteousness, yet all I’ve heard you talk about is your own lofty aspirations of success. What about the rest of CPW? What about the industry in general? What about Western society and its exploitive monetary system? Nah, forget all that. Justice means you as World Champion, the face of the company. Nothing else matters.
That’s cool. I get it, look out for number one. What I don’t get is why you call yourself Justice and drop the word in every other sentence when it has no coherence with your aims. Wrestling is full of braggarts, egomaniacs and sociopaths. You fall into one of those three categories. Take your pick. Either way, you’re a fraud, and as for me? Well I’m nothing but the Truth.
Perhaps you think Justice Hawx sounds cool. It doesn’t, but this business has never held someone back for being corny and outdated. Still, change the name. It’s not relevant. Stop preaching hollow justice that amounts to nothing. Be yourself, no matter how bland and tedious that may be. It can’t be much worse than your current persona.
See, I’ve been a recipient of society’s justice and I don’t think you could handle it. You have to be strong to survive in the prison system. Not just physically but mentally. I was caged like an animal, surrounded by the scum of humanity: drug dealers, rapists, murderers, pedophiles. You would have probably spent three years bent over a rail… although looking at that Freddie Mercury moustache, maybe that wouldn’t have been a problem for you.
I search for Truth at all costs. By any means. You are in the unfortunate position of standing in my way, Justice Hawx. You and your web of lies. Your tiresome arrogance masquerading as virtuousness. In my debut, I will send a message to ALL of CPW at your expense. Congratulations, you will be my first sacrificial lamb. Now this is where you expect me to reel off some lame catchphrase like the Truth hurts, right?
Wrong. I’m no cliché. I’m a visionary. A Truth seeker.
The pathway begins with your end.
You present this façade of fairness, equity and righteousness, yet all I’ve heard you talk about is your own lofty aspirations of success. What about the rest of CPW? What about the industry in general? What about Western society and its exploitive monetary system? Nah, forget all that. Justice means you as World Champion, the face of the company. Nothing else matters.
That’s cool. I get it, look out for number one. What I don’t get is why you call yourself Justice and drop the word in every other sentence when it has no coherence with your aims. Wrestling is full of braggarts, egomaniacs and sociopaths. You fall into one of those three categories. Take your pick. Either way, you’re a fraud, and as for me? Well I’m nothing but the Truth.
Perhaps you think Justice Hawx sounds cool. It doesn’t, but this business has never held someone back for being corny and outdated. Still, change the name. It’s not relevant. Stop preaching hollow justice that amounts to nothing. Be yourself, no matter how bland and tedious that may be. It can’t be much worse than your current persona.
See, I’ve been a recipient of society’s justice and I don’t think you could handle it. You have to be strong to survive in the prison system. Not just physically but mentally. I was caged like an animal, surrounded by the scum of humanity: drug dealers, rapists, murderers, pedophiles. You would have probably spent three years bent over a rail… although looking at that Freddie Mercury moustache, maybe that wouldn’t have been a problem for you.
I search for Truth at all costs. By any means. You are in the unfortunate position of standing in my way, Justice Hawx. You and your web of lies. Your tiresome arrogance masquerading as virtuousness. In my debut, I will send a message to ALL of CPW at your expense. Congratulations, you will be my first sacrificial lamb. Now this is where you expect me to reel off some lame catchphrase like the Truth hurts, right?
Wrong. I’m no cliché. I’m a visionary. A Truth seeker.
The pathway begins with your end.