Welcome.
Open.
A darkened arena.
No fans, no vendors, no commentators, no existance.
Until the lights fade in. A spotlight, beaming directly upon the
ring, and no where else.
Light upon the ring, light inside the ring. The light of three
men.
The light and beauty of destruction.
Three men, obvious whom, lingering about the heinous creation known
simply as a cell.
For most the fear involved being locked inside this foreboding menace.
For these men, the fear was being locked outside.
The appointed hour was near, and it was time they steeled their minds.
Their bodies were prepared. Their strategy readied.
All that they could do to ready themselves was ready their minds.
And that is what they were there to do.
Their desire was overflowing and needed to be tapped, and focused.
The desire not of victory.
Of suffering, of pain, of punishment.
Punishment.
The cell was designed to punish. And the sins of their opponents
were great. It was time for them to repent.
Yet for Kushner, Lancaster, and Finnegan, they knew repentence was not
in order from their nine malodorous foes.
And it is apparent where those who repent not reside when life has
strutted itself upon the stage, and turned and seared beyond the yellow
leaf, into decay.
Hell.
Perfect.
Hell would come to Earth and would focus, culminate in one ruthless
match.
In one damanable cell.
As if an invitation to a pleasant evening's dinner and drinks was this
cell match for the three.
An opportunity to submit others, and yes, themselves, to unimaginable perfect punishment.
A lovely evening it would be indeed.
But what would make the evening even lovelier, would be the capturing
of BWWa gold.
That was but a secondary concern however.
Their primary concern for the moment at least, was to speak to each and
everyone of those nine men, who, for that one night, would be mortal
enemies. It was time for war.
The scene begins to move slowly as it circles around the ring, showing
each man in their own particular niche.
Kushner sits confidently on the top turnbuckle in a corner, a small,
knowing grin etched indeliably on his lips.
"Nous...intelligence."
Lancaster stands on the outside of the ring, holding with one hand the
steel that constructed the artificial hell.
"Generosus...aristocracy."
The shot then appears to a pair of black wrestling boots, as it pans
upwards to reveal the beaten face of Seamus Finnegan, frowning with
unmistakable sadism. He slams his shillelagh into his opposing
hand...covered with barbed wire.
"Nomen romanorum...Roman power."
Seamus slowly, methodically, begins to pace around the
inside of the ring; his head turned down, he is
focused, determined...ready to unleash the venom.
"So here we are...here is what it
all comes down to.
Ye see, New Attitude Entertainment...Larger than
Life...Sinful eXperience...last week on Silver, we
COULD have settled this like civilized human
beings...oh aye, we COULD have all just agreed to
disagree, reachin' a mutual understandin' o'each
other...but instead, here we stand, surrounded by ring
ropes, canvas, concrete, UNFORGIVIN' STEEL...oh aye,
lads...here we are...here is what it's come down
to...the nine o'ye bastards...the three o'us...here
inside this hell...HELL IN A BLOODY CELL."
In a calm, almost eerie tone he proceeds.
"This is what it's come down
to...such a shame,
really...so much talent inside one little ring...so
many careers about to be ended...an' fer what, really?
Fer the fans? I don't give a damn about the fans. I
stopped givin' a damn about the fans ages ago. Ye see,
fer seventeen...SEVENTEEN GOD*BLEEP*ED YEARS...I
busted my arse fer these fans...I went through tables,
through broken glass, had my flesh ripped open wi'
barbed wire, been lit on fire, thrown off a
scaffolding...and at the end o'the day, did the fans
give a damn that I ended up in the emergency ward,
listed in serious condition??? DID THEY???"
Seamus laughs sadistically.
"Ye see, it's not about what the
fans want to see. I
could care less about what the fans want to see, an'
ah'm venturin' to guess, there aren't too many fans
out there wi'stomachs that are strong enough who'll
want to bear witness to the carnage about to be
unleashed on the nine o'ye...by the three o'us, inside
the confines o'this steel hell. But don't
worry...don't be afraid, because as the song goes,
'Hell ain't a bad place to be'. Matter o'fact, I hear
it's quite lovely this time o'the year. So NAE, LTL,
SeX..."
Seamus waves his barbed wire covered shillelagh around, pointing at the
cage.
"This is what awaits ye at Silver.
This is the hell you're about to experience. See ye all in
hell...and may ye all make it to heaven a half an hour
before the devil knows yer dead..."
Silence sweeps over the arena once more. The camera shot fades
from Finnegan's knowing, deadly grin, to a grin of a decidely different
type, that being worn by Jeff Kushner. He continues to recline on
the top turnbuckle of the ring.
"War indeed shall be fought in a
few short days from now ladies and gents. The war will be fought
chiefly down there, in that ring. But I'd advise you to not
forget about the heavens, because I'll be taking my war to all of
you...from there."
He smiles, and continues.
"A match like this calls for an
unorthodox strategy, and unorthodox methods of causing as much pain and
brutality in one's opponents as one possibly can. Sounds like
fun, doesn't it? It certainly does to me, and I know I share the
same feelings as my comrades. But I know what hasn't been
fun. Listening to you all banter back and forth, threats here,
threats there, with hardly a scarce mention of the Triumvirate."
Jeff shakes his head.
"Perhaps it's because we're the
new guys in town. Perhaps it's because you don't understand
history and can't comprehend the name of our esteemed group.
Well, for whatever reason, I've learned, and countless others have learned, with much
difficulty, that to deny one's opponents means only one thing..."
He narrows his eyes.
"Severe retribution. And
frankly, we'll be more than glad to subject you all to what likely will
be...the worst night of your lives. And in doing so, we shall
know no fear, and taste not defeat. I can only hope you're
ready...all of you. Step back for a moment and ask yourselves
that question...are you ready. Are you ready for the pain.
For the bloodshed. For...annihilation?"
"If you're not...it's going to be
all too easy for us," speaking
deeply, slowly. "We're going to terminate this feud once
and for all. Seamus is going to break you in half. Robert
is going to snap your neck in two. And I'll kill you ten times
over before you even hit the canvas. Breakfast well, my
friends...for that night, we shall all, dine..."
He smiles again.
"...in hell."
Once more the shot fades, this time leaving Kushner, and proceeding to
Lancaster, who stands still, holding the cell with one hand. His
head hangs low, his blond hair obscuring most of his face.
"The hottest places in Hell are
reserved for those who in time of great moral crises maintain their
neutrality."
He lifts up his head, his hair parting ways for his steeled, blue eyes.
"Dante."
A pause.
"I shall not be neutral. Nor
will I allow myself to be corrupted by the lust of gold by singling my
efforts on one man, or one faction."
"I will not submit."
"I will not cry for
mercy. I will not give mercy."
"I will know no fear, no fear
of blood, of pain, of mere steel [he squeezes the cage] or whatever weapons you may bring."
"You may smash my body, but you
will not smash my soul."
"The Triumvirate will reign a
bloody reign that night. There needs nothing more said."
He lowers his head once more, inhaling, and exhaling deeply.
"Now. Tremble."
The shot fades as a sky view of the
cage is given. It rotates slowly, until it fades away into
nothingness.
