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Scene One: Punk vs. The World 

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[x] 7-27-S1 ||| Chicago, Il [x] Local Skate-Park [x]

[[Down a few blocks from Punk's apartment in Chicago laid a local skate park. Kids of various ages hung around, showing each other their latest tricks, hanging around, and not causing any trouble. As a goofy looking red-headed kid nervously went down a half pipe, the camera pointed at a man in tattoos standing with his back on the wall. It wasn't long till the average person could make it out to be CM Punk, who sported a pair of camo shorts, a band t-shirt, and more importantly, the IWF United States Championship laying down by his feet. He watched a couple of the kids do their thing, with his own board decked out with Straight Edge bands' logo on his board, before looking at the camera with an irritated look. It was clear he was only watching, hanging out with the crowd instead of skating, as he wore an ankle brace on his foot after the injuries sustained during the tournament.]]

.::xXx C M  P U N K xXx::.

CM Punk; IWF United States Champion. Has a pretty nice ring to it if I say so myself. But, you didn't expect to hear that, did you? I know Eric Bischoff sure didn't. I know he didn't even wan it to happen either. He thought I was just a throw-away entrant in that little tournament at Vengeance. "Give the new kid a chance" type of deal, ya know? He thought I was just the indy schmuck who couldn't hang with his "superstars". You know how that theory played out. I did the most important thing a guy with my experience needed to do, and that was to make an impact. Winning this championship was the exact impact I needed, and now? I'm not just another guy on the IWF roster; I'm enemy number one in the boss' eyes. Eric would know what it meant to stand out if he knew anything about this business, but for the uninformed, he only ever got into this sport by being a mediocre announcer who weasled his way to the top. He couldn't tell a wrist lock from a wrist watch, so when it comes to knowing what it takes to be succesful in this business through hard work, you're speaking a different language to him.

[[He shrugged, bending down and picking up the title, looking at it's beautiful design with a smirk at the camera.]]

.::xXx C M  P U N K xXx::.

It must really eat you up to see this huh? To see me, a guy from a different world, who isn't jacked to the gills because of steroids, take away your toy. You might see this as just a "belt", and you'd be right on most occasions. In the hands of Kurt Angle, Lance Storm, or hell, that other stooge on your payroll, Triple H, it's a belt. It means nothing when they have it. But when this championship title is in my hands... it becomes power.

[[His smirk softly goes away as he points at the name-plate which reads CM PUNK.]]

.::xXx C M  P U N K xXx::.

This name means that I have earned this. Instead of doing what comes naturally to you, instead of waiting in the grass like the snake you are, I capitalized on the opportunity you presented me. The whole reason I shocked your system, is because I wouldn't just sit by and let you run your personal parade on this company. I'm not your ordinay 9 to 5 working man, if I see something that is totally screwed up, like you trying to put Kurt Angle on a pedestal for doing NOTHING, then I'm going to go out and protest it. You hate me because I am the exact thing you never wanted to see in "your" company. Well news-flash, Mr. 90's Wiz-Kid; you're stuck with me. As soon as I put my signature on that fat contract you offered me to join the Insane Wrestling Federation, you earned yourself a certified revolution. So yeah Eric, I drove my fist through your face and punked you out, and if your big plan to stop me is a has-been who I already beat and a guy who's on the juice, then you're dumber then you look.

[[Punk threw the title on his shoulder, adjusting it as he pointed a finger at the camera.]]

.::xXx C M  P U N K xXx::.

Kurt Angle wasn't enough to stop me, so you got desperate. To you, Triple H hitting me with the Pedigree after my match was a message to not mess with you, but to me, and everyone else watching what went down, you showed how desperate you really were. How ironic, that you, someone that got where he is by a loophole, enlisted the help of a guy just like you, who MARRIED into his success. Yeah, Hunter, it's an easy target, but the reason you hate people bringing it up so much is because you can't face the reality. Without your buddy Shawn Michaels, without Stephanie McMahon, you'd be stuck as a blue blooded dweeb who never made it. But even now, in the face of adversity, you're only given a spot-light because of someone else. What's wrong? Was Vince's yacht not big enough for you? Did you decide your time on top wasn't good enough? Get real. No one cares that you're here, and if you think you're in my head because you hit a worse version of my finisher on me; fat chance. You're as insignifcant as someone like, I dunno, The Hurricane. But hey, enjoy those 15 minutes of fame in the ring with me, Hunter, because alongside Kurt Angle and Eric Bischoff, you're not a main eventer, hell, you're not even a mid-carder, and you're certianly not "The Game"; you're just someone else's bitch doing their dirty work.  

[[His face, painted with determination, and his breath was steady as he took a short pause before continuing.]]

.::xXx C M  P U N K xXx::.

I've been beaten down my whole life, that's nothing new. To your boss Eric Bischoff, he thinks the numbers game is where he'll beat me, but that's a complete fabrication of the truth. I've been kicked down, shoved into lockers, outcasted my entire life, and the one thing remains the same; it's because I don't fit your ideas. You hate me because you can't stand out, and that's pathetic. You three are pathetic, and you're all too stupid to realize that! Think about it, the only way you got a quick beatdown on me was because you ganged up on me, while I still had a bad ankle. How sad can you get? You're scared Eric, scared of me because I expose the fraud you really are. How poetic, that I, "The Choice of a New Generation", "The Straight Edge American", am trying to be SILENCED for practicing my rights! Believe me pal, I'm having a blast just seeing you squirm and get pissy because I'm BETTER then the best you have to offer. I'm BETTER then your Kurt Angles, your Lance Storms, your Triple H's, and anyone else you plan to put in front of me that you think can stop my path of destruction. I am an army of one, and while you struggle to find the cure to the "cancer" to this company you seem to think I am, I'll keep knocking you and the rest of these wannabe superstars on your asses. Hell, if this week's anything to by, then it's clear you're not putting in a whole lot of thought.

[[He scoffed with a sarcastic smirk, using the palm of his hand to wipe down his face.]]

.::xXx C M  P U N K xXx::.

Just because Raven and I are "alternative", we're one in the same, right? Wrong. It's no secret, I hate his guts with every fiber of my being, he pissed away a stellar career, and this world would be better if he dropped dead in a dumpster. But that's the swerve, right? Because Raven's teaming up with me, Eric thinks it's either three on one, or I end up losing because of Raven. I heard what he had to say leading up to the United States Title Tournament, and it was so dissapointing. Here's a guy, who's supposedly known for his long, poetic promos, failing to even offer a minute worth of matieral now. He's an old man, broken down, and a shell of his former-self. Like Angle and Triple H, he doesn't belong in this main event. He's dead-weight in this match, and when you mix that with Kurt Angle, who I've beaten once already, and a sorry excuse of a wrestler like Triple H, you've got an easy night for the ol' Punker. Eric, you can kick rocks while you watch me dismantle your little plan, and if you feel like coming down to that ring is going to help you out, go for it, because so help me God, I'll knock your teeth down your throat if you even think about getting involved in my business again.

[[He was dead serious about that last threat, as he points to the other shoulder, without a title.]]

.::xXx C M  P U N K xXx::.

Because you see, this isn't even a bump in the road capturing more gold in the form of the IWF Championship. Sure, you might insert a couple of your guys into the Elimination Chamber, since ya know, they wouldn't be able to actually earn those shots, but it doesn't matter to me how many guys you put in my way. Hell, get the rest of Triple H's buddies in DX jobs so they can try to take me out. Get Kurt Angle's brother Eric for all I care, because no one can stop me! This is fate's work at hand, and my destiny is to walk into the Elimination Chamber at Summerslam, and walk the first EVER IWF United States Champion AND IWF Champion, and the first to hold BOTH at the SAME TIME! You're shaking in your boots to hear these words Eric, and I'm lovin' every minute of it! You started this war, and now I plan on retaliating with EVERYTHING I've got! I may not have an army behind my back, and even without Colt Cabana, I still have what it takes to fight you and your group of stooges off by myself. You can waste thousands if not millions of dollars on contracts to find someone to stop CM Punk, but like WCW, that lofty venture is going be a total bust for you. So go ahead, bring your A+ game, throw out whatever B.S. stipulations you want, try to ruin my career, because I will ruin your life ten times worse.

[[Punk removes the United States Title from his shoulder and holds it with a single fist, looking into the camera one last time.]]

.::xXx C M  P U N K xXx::.

As my theme song suggests, "Miseria Cantare", this is "The Beginning" of the end of your vision for the IWF. This is my company to rule, and once I accomplish another goal, and become the face of this company, you won't be able to do a damn thing about it.

[[With that, Punk turned to the side and slowly walked off, his ankle hobbiling a bit, as the camera faded to black.]]