"Nature's Fury" Ain't Got Nothin' On "NoMaD's Fury"

-=- The scene is Nomad's New York City penthouse apartment. The setting we've gotten so used to is decidedly different. Boxes are everywhere, the walls are fairly empty. A shuffling is heard around the corner. The cameraman rounds the corner into what was always known as the "trophy parlor". The room was always kept relatively sparse, it's few decorations being various awards Nomad has gotten over the years. Nomad is wearing black cargo shorts, black eight-eye combat boots, and no shirt. His dirty blonde hair is pulled back into a short ponytail. He's squatting off to one side of the room, making room in a box for the plaque he was given when he was inducted into the EWA Hall of Fame. The mid-day sun streaming through the large windows glares off the camera lens, and Nomad looks up -=-

My EWA career is over. That much, everyone knows. For FOUR YEARS I made the EWA my BITCH. I didn't stand at the top the whole time, I admit. I only stood at the top twice. But was that because I wasn't good enough? Was that because I didn't have what it took to rule the EWA with an iron fist whenever I felt the need? Heh. No. It was because I was busy constructing my legend in the midcard. It was because Tom Stone came to me early on in my career and said "You're my man. I want you to be the guy who's so good, that to get past you would REALLY elevate new guys to the top". I put people over not because I made them look good in the ring. I'm not Chavo fucking Guerrero. I put them over because only a MESSIAH OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING can beat me. Only a human miracle can beat Nomad. When I wanted the EWA International Title, IT WAS MINE. Did anyone oppose me? Yes. Did anyone challenge me? No. The only person in my career to ever offer me a true challenge...the ONLY ONE...is the man I won the EWA Tag Team Championships with. Clayton Chandler. And who's my partner in round two? The man Chandler pesonally picked to replace himself. So "Tricky" Tiki Tortez, Joey Fury...sorry guys, but YOU'RE FUCKED.

-=- Nomad tucks the plaque into the box, and closes the flaps on the top. He stands up, and looks at the camera again -=-

You ask people on the street. You ask people behind the scenes. You ask people who own federations. You ask people who GET IN THAT RING. They will all give the same answer to the same question. "Who is the most dangerous man in professional wrestling?" What's the answer? ME. NOMAD. I am an assassin in the ring. I dissect my opponents. I attack their body until it gives out. No matter how strong your willpower may be, you cannot move with a severed spinal cord. THAT is the reasoning behind my techniques. If your body cannot move, than you cannot move it. So Tiki, you can talk until you're blue in the face about how much determination you have, how motivated you are, and how much endurance you have. In the end, it won't matter. Because when you're dead or unconsious, you don't have ANY. You say I've accomplished so much, right Tiki? You're right. But I'M NOT DONE. You see, something has been bothering me ever since I decided to retire. All my accomplishments, all my accolades, all my titles, all my victories...they've all been in the EWA. And granted, there's something to be said for making myself an international superstar without ever leaving one nation, but still...it's kind of empty. It's like beating thirty quadraplegics in a footrace. Sure, it's an accomplishment, but you'll never know how good you really are until you run the Boston Marathon. For me, Battlebowl IS the Boston Marathon. I have come here to test myself against the best "runners" in the world, to see if my success is merely the byproduct of poor competition. But you know what, Tiki?

-=- Nomad grins, and adjusts a tendril of loose hair hanging down over his face -=-

You WERE in the EWA. I stood atop that company, one of the crowning jewels of the most impressive roster ever assembled, and I was THE MAN. And you were nothing but a minion to me. A PEON. You, my not-so-esteemed colleague, are a quadraplegic. You want to talk about your INNUMERABLE accolades in the EWA, Tiki? Extreme Title for 80 days? Excuse me?! EXCUSE ME?!?! I was one half of the EWA Tag Team Champions!!! I have held the EWA International Title FOUR TIMES, my longest reign being ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-ONE DAYS!!! MORE THAN DOUBLE THE REIGN YOU HAD WITH A BELT THAT MEANS LESS THAN HALF OF WHAT THE INTERNATIONAL TITLE DOES!!! AND I HAVE BEEN THE EWA WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION TWICE, MY FIRST REIGN LASTING FIFTY TWO DAYS!!! HOW MUCH DOES YOUR EXTREME TITLE MEAN NOW, "TRICKY" TIKI TORTEZ?! IT MEANS ABOUT AS MUCH AS YOU DO; ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!!!!!!

-=- Nomad breathes deeply for a moment, then regains his composure -=-

Are you a nobody, Tiki Tortez? No. A nobody wouldn't even be in Battlebowl. What you are, my friend, is even worse...a somebody who JUST DOESN'T MATTER. And Joey Fury? HA! Oh, my very small friend, you're not news to me, either. I have been in the ring with you. And I have never laughed so hard in my life. We were both in the HIW, but we never crossed paths...until something happened. You were doing your thing in the midcard, while I was making waves in the main event. But then Tom Stone re-opened the EWA, and me, Thrylla, and Chandler decided to jump ship. Rather than have us elevate a whole new "replacement" main event scene, the president of HIW, Dave Fenichel, got an idea that could have only been the byproduct of a twelve-hour clambake in his garage. The "new plan" was to have you, Mr. Fury, go over me and Chandler in one match, and Serial Thrylla in another match. As is the norm in wrestling politics, our complaints were nothing compared to Fenichel's executive power. He had a vision, and although it was far from 20/20, we had no choice but to follow it to the letter.

-=- Nomad looks out the window for a second, seemingly gathering his thoughts before he continues -=-

David Fenichel's vision was for me and Clayton Chandler to do the ULTIMATE job to Joey Fury. Not only would he no-sell all our offense, not only would we OVERSELL all of HIS offense, but Chandler would tap out to his own submission finishing hold. And all this to elevate the young Joey Fury. Why did it take so much to elevate him? Simple. Because the fans didn't care about Joey Fury. Why didn't they care about him? Because he sucks. They needed to see him perform a genuine, honest-to-God miracle in order to rally behind him.

-=- Another deep breath -=-

Well we delivered. We did the job. As much as we hated it, we were backed into a corner and we did what we did because Fenichel gave us no choice. We were contractually obligated to follow through with his wishes for that night's match, and if we had done otherwise, we would have been sued for all we were worth. We didn't like it, but it kept our asses out of the courtroom. And we got our revenge on Fenichel the very next day by abandoning HIW and desecrating its World Title and its very reputation. But I have not gotten my revenge on Joey Fury. Oh, no. By no choice of my own, Fury, I stepped into that ring and made a disaster look like a deity. But that was then, and this is now. This isn't HIW. This isn't SDW. There are no scripts, there are no spots, and there are no screwjobs. Just four men, divided into two teams, stepping into one ring. If I was up against Octavius Giovanni, or Pegasus Warrior, or Liger...things would be different. Because as I mentioned earlier, my sole purpose in Battlebowl is to prove a point. That I'm not past my prime, and that I can rise to the top even OUTSIDE the EWA. But I'm not up against just anyone. I'm up against Joey Fury. And I am not just proving a point. I'm settling a score. I'm getting REVENGE. And although you didn't even get a taste of it, Fury, ask anyone who knows: I'm most dangerous when I'm angry. And I am very, very, very angry...WITH YOU.

-=- Nomad looks around at all the boxes around his penthouse, and lets out a gentle sigh -=-

I am forever retired from the Extreme Wrestling Association. All that is left of my former life is in these boxes. I'm moving out of New York City, and out to San Diego to live out my years in calming relaxation. But I can never relax with this doubt hanging in my mind. I can never leave this sport without knowing that I stood toe-to-toe with the best of the best and gave it my all. That's what I'm here to do. I'm here to give it my best. I'm not here to win. If I do win, than that simply means that my best was enough. If not, then at least I will be satisfied with myself. But to go out in round two, especially to such talentless underlings as yourself, would be truly humiliating. Fury, you said that "the only man in this tournament who has a remotely good chance of defeating me is in my own corner for round two". But that man ISN'T Tiki Tortez, Joey. It's YOURSELF. It's your own lack of focus, determination, and simple skill that is going to stop you dead in your tracks at round two. So when I send you home in defeat, just remember you have no one to blame but yourself. And as for Tortez...my friend, you left out one option. I find that neither "trick" nor "treat" is what I expect to find this Sunday in our match. The third option describes you, your partner, and your hopes of winning this tournament. Option three, Tiki, is "joke".

-=- The scene fades to black as Nomad goes back to packing up his belongings -=-