Creature holds a hand over his forehead, concealed by a mask, and peers into the sky. He watches as a few grey clouds plod over the beautiful blue sky, and squints as the sun's rays bombard his eyes. He stands just outside a local pub, wearing a white shirt, a leather belt, and some black jeans. His right hand alone is sheathed in a fingerless leather glove, and his feet are protected by some short, dark boots.
Creature scans his surroundings, and follows some of the people patrolling the streets with his eyes.
Creature: Look at all of these bumbling idiots. Simple wasting their lives away, not striving for success, not striving for greatness. I refuse to be like these peasants. I not only want, but NEED, to attain greatness. But with a coward like Shocker denying me the chance to become the number one contender for the Continental Championship, then how can I? I will just have to win the World Title Tournament, I suppose. God knows that he will never be able to defeat Maniac. That chore is all up to me.
Creature turns around and looks over the pub. It is constructed out of red brick, which over the years has chipped, cracked, and become so pale it is practically pink.
Creature: This building is old and worn. Past its prime. Just like Slayer. But nothing like Shocker...for his prime will never come! For when I close the lid on him, on the casket, this Sunday night, not only will retribution be mine, but his career will be over. I will beat him until that dumbfounded look in his beedy little eyes, the look that seems to say, "Duh...I'm stupid," becomes a cold, lifeless stare. And then it will be on to Slayer.
An old dog trots by Creature, attached via a leash to its owner who strolls close behind, and Creature watches them as the pass.
Creature: The dog will not last much longer. Its life in this world is limited, it is ravaged by time. All it has left is experience. Like Slayer. I'm sure he will tell me that his experience is what will beat me, that nothing else matters. That he has been in HCW for a long, long time, and that I am as green as the grass, and as arrogant as say...the Babbling Idiot Chris Anarchy. What will I say in response? Go to hell. Slayer's experience won't come into play, because my sheer skill will be enough to overpower it.
Creature glances back over his shoulder and studies the dog some more before it becomes too distant to see.
Creature: Old dog...they say that you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Well this Sunday, against that old dog Slayer, I won't teach him new tricks- I'll just kick his ass. I may still be considred an arrogant, green, "rookie" here, but after Sunday night, I'll be considered the arrogant, green, rookie who beat the living hell out of the two-time former HCW Champion and advanced in the tournament.
Creature averts his attention back to the pub.
Creature: Just as the wrecking ball will no doubt come for this pub within a few years, the wrecking ball will come for Slayer this Sunday. There will be no escaping the wrecking ball. It will slam into Slayer, blow after blow, and while it may take time, eventually, the skyscraper that he is will crumble to the ground, and all that will be left to do is drag the rubble out of the ring and heave it into the casket. The wrecking ball will close the lid on the broken shell of a man once known as Slayer, and it will move on in the tournament. And the wrecking ball will be named... Creature.
Creature, now parched after his monologue, enters the pub at last. He is instantly attacked from all directions by various stenches and the repulsive odor of tobacco. A large bar is almost completely lined with drunks chugging away at tall mugs of ale. Creature shakes his head, and inside his mask his face contorts with distgust. He steps further into the pub, and heres a conversation going on nearby.
Man: Yeah...tonight I'm taking the ol' car to the junk yard. It was good to me, but now that I got the truck, it is time to get rid of the heap.
Woman: I understand that. You've had that bloody thing forever, and it keeps breaking down. No one wants it. The junk yard is the only place for it.
Creature walks over to the apparent couple.
Creature: I couldn't help but over-hear your conversation.
Man: Yeah..what'd ya want?
Creature: I just want to tell you that I am gong through something similar. This Sunday, I'm dragging an old pile of crap to the junk yard myself. The only difference between your situation and mine, is that your piece of garbage actually helped you for some time...mine, has caused me only grief.
Woman: Umm...why are you weaing a mask? You must be a tourist...
Creature: That is not the point. The point is, that much like this man here, I am getting rid of a nuissance that has been around way too long.
Man: I understand that...it is too expensive to keep fixing those old cars up when they break down.
Creature: My problem doesn't break down...it just makes an obnoxious noise, it blows its own horn, and it acts as though it performs better than anyone else. So to shut its mouth once and for all, I am going to slowly bust it up, and send it to its grave.
Man: We are, uh, talking about a car, right?
Creature: Of course.
Man: What kind of car is it?
Creature: A Slayer.
Creature leaves the two, who busy themselves trying to figure out which company manufactures cars known as "Slayers." Creature approaches the bar and takes a seat on a vacant stool. He thinks back to the last time he was in an awful pub like this...Canada. A man by the name of "Pablo" was talking to him, and it was only days before he was scheduled to face Wolverine for the number one contenderhsip to the United States Championship.
Creature: Wolverine...hmph. Where is he? Rotting in a ditch somewhere, I hope. I remember when I went up against him. Everyone said he has the edge over Creature because of experience. Even he himself said that. He was returning to the ring after an extended break, and he thought I would be an easy victory. Not so. I defeated him, and proved everyone wrong. I will have to prove everyone wrong again. I know the so called odds are against me...please. I can beat the odds. I can beat Wolverine. I can beat...SLAYER.
The bartender looks over at Creature.
Bartender: Hey...are you gonna have a drink or just talk to yourself?
Creature: Hmph. Give me a beer. Simple as that.
Bartender: You're from outta town, aren't you?
Creature: Why don't you just get me my drink? I broke a man's wrist for less than that...
Creature shakes his head once again as the locals sicken him, and thinks back to the homeless man awaiting to take him to court back in the United States.
Creature: What a loser he is...but I suppose he is more fortunate than Slayer. He escaped with one good wrist, and his life...Slayer won't be so lucky. He wants me in a Casket Match. I'm sure he'll change his mind once he beholds what I do to Shocker under the same stipulations.
The bartender places the beer in front of Creature suddenly. Creature looks up at him and smirks.
Bartender: That'll be-
Creature slides the man a ten dollar bill before the man can finish speaking.
Creature: I can read the menu. I know how much a beer costs. Now, be a good little boy and go get that ten converted into some of your stupid excuses of currecny, the Euro. Leave me be.
The bartender gives Creature a dirty look of sorts and takes the ten, then turns away from him. Creature takes a sip of his beer.
Creature: After Sunday, both Shocker and Slayer will curse this terrible life. They will be locked in total darkness, imprisoned in a box meant for a cadaver, and I will make sure they remain their until they are cadavers. Shocker has retreated with his tail tucked between his legs, to go watch his favorite basketball team lose. I hope he has fun. Because when he returns, his fun will end. And what's Slayer doing? I have hopes for him as well. I hope he is confessing his sins, and begging the Lord for mecy...because I will have none for him come Sunday. It wasn't supposed to be personal between us. It was supposed to be about the HCW World Heavyweight Title. But one week ago Sunday, when he choke slammed me to hell and back, he sealed his fate.
Creature takes another drink of his beer, and one of the alchoholics beside him turns to him.
Drunk: Exc...Excuse me, si-sir. Bu-but, did you just men-mention Fa-Fa-Fate?
Creature: Just as I suspected. Fate's fanbase consists of drunks and losers. Well yes you sack of trash, I did mention fate. But not the HCW TV Champion Fate.
Drunk: Oh...well, Fa-Fate is the best athlet-athlette-athlete in the HCW!
Creature: Yes, it would be easy for a man intoxicated on cheap ale in this hideous pub to believe that. Fate is as undeserving of a champion as they come. But he does not worry me right now. The TV Title is not what I'm after at this point. I am on the path to my destiny...and my destiny is to be the HCW World Heavyweight Champion.
Drunk: Who-who are you anyway?
Creature: Slayer's worst nightmare.
Creature polishes off his beer and rises from his seat. He looks around the pub one last time, and snorts at how repulsive it truly is. He exits the pub, and steps back out onto the sidewalk.
Creature: I wonder how Slayer's injuries are coming along? He was so bad off last Rebellion...he was lucky I was there to help him win the World Title. Of course, he is such an infidel, he had it taken right away from him. Maybe the front office isn't as stupid and irresponsible as I thought. They knew Slayer would bring about as much dignity to the title as the Hardcore Division does to HCW...NONE. So they stripped him, and now, I am finally on the road to what I have sought after since I arrived here, and will continue to chase down until I have it...the HCW World Heavyweight Championship.
Creature looks down at the cracked sidewalk. He clecnhes his gloved right fist, and then surveys his enitre right arm.
Creature: This arm...the arm that will be raised following my conquest of both Slayer and Shocker! The arm that will be raised as I stand atop the HCW mountain, victor in the tournament and the HCW World Heavyweight Champion! The arm that will slam the casket closed on both Slayer and Shocker.
Creature begins to walk down the faulty sidewalk, passing by various locals, all who he finds contemptable. He keeps his hidden face down as he walks, mumbling to himself.
Creature: I have gone without the respect I deserve far too long...I will seize the day this Sunday. I refuse anything less than victory. This tournament for the HCW World Title...this is what it is all about. WRESTLING for REAL gold. I can just imagine the sound of Heyman's voice, or Ventura for that matter, when they have to announce to the fans watching around the world that Creature, yes the "rookie," yes the "jobber," yes the "newbie," CREATURE has defeated SLAYER in a casket match. I can imagine as they have to say that I advance, not Slayer. ME! And I will not rest, I will not sleep, I will not stop until everything I promise, vow, and imagine is a reality. This Sunday, Shocker won't stop me, and I will die before I let Slayer knock me out of the tournament in the first round. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, right here, on the streets of this dispicable city known as London. Slayer may believe it is just a catchy name, Death Row, but he really is a member of it. This Sunday night, he will be executed, not in a gas chamber, not by lethal injection, not by eletrocution, but by ME. By the Abyss. If he hasn't realized it by now, then he won't realize it until it is too late-his Future is Dim, but the Abyss is Dimmer.
Creature continues his walk down the sidewalk, head down. He begins to laugh a bit.
Creature: My destiny has arrived...