Attired minimally in a grey T-Shirt and a plain pair of black jeans, John Taylor admired the setting around him - a small media room within the GZW2K1 Coliseum. The room was bare, even for its size; a projector screen the length of the back wall stood behind him, the projector itself in front of him resting on a small table. Clutched in his hand, Taylor held a remote control. Coolly clicking one of the buttons, the lights in the room went out, leaving the room pitch dark. Another, invisible click and the projector in front of him began to boot up, what little light emanating from it not doing much at all to brighten the scene. A third and final click and the large screen displayed a high-resolution black-and-white photograph of a victorious "Lord" Deacon Kane standing in the middle of the ring with a microphone after defeating Kandi Fortune and attaining the title of Lord. Taylor cleared his throat a little before speaking up.
"Am I the voice of arrogance and disillusionment?", he asked, innocently enough. "Do I claim to be something I'm not? Have I remained quiet up to the very last hurdle, only to excuse my absence by proclaiming to be the best of the best without backing it up in the slightest? Have I had the nerve to drop out of the public eye until just now, and professed my 'greatness' through rap? Have I just signed with the company and already gotten too big for my boots that haven't even been delivered yet? Did I selfishly declare victory over a week prior to the show, in the nude and utterly denounce and defame the chances of any and all other participants? Furthermore, was I desperate enough to get the pre-show comedy vote that I dressed up as my potential foes with the goal being that I was getting the last laugh? Was I that delusional? Am I too downright stupid to realise that without stepping foot in a ring, I've become the laughing stock of the competition and famed only for my inane fits of shouting and needless rage? Am I the sore loser with the strip club and the fat wallet who should've never been the World Heavyweight Champion and still hasn't got over the fact that the belt was lost months ago? Perhaps I'm the brainless idiot that helped him win the belt in the first place?"
"No. Wrong on all counts."
"I am John Taylor. I am the Lone Gunman. I am the current World Heavyweight Champion. I stand not for arrogance or disillusionment nor do I stand for idiocy or weakness. I stand for logic, reason, strategy, endurance, precision and intelligence. Somehow, though, it's me that receives the rain of a thousand flames for whatever crap the best of the rest come up with... I dismiss Nathan Williams' mic skills and smarts, all of a sudden they say I'm not focussed. I refuse to fall for Sean Fiery's juvenile, predictable tricks and they call me an egomaniac. I serve as something of a modern day thinking man's champion and Jay Jameson calls me a geek. The ethics of this company are practically non-existent. Nobody can be anybody without some moron trying either to take it from you or to emulate you. Unfortunately, the sad fact is that to get a point across to any of these people, you've quite literally got to hammer it home, rusty nail and everything. If it takes getting down in the mud to truly silence the pigs and end their otherwise ceaseless collective dribble, then so be it."
With a click of the remote, an image of Jay Jameson was brought up on the screen behind Taylor.
"Jay Jameson, the most inexperienced of all the participants fighting to become Lord of the Coliseum, took it upon himself recently to rate each of his opponents, the Lone Gunman unwisely included, on a scale of one to ten. They call me the arrogant one? The blame is put on me for the lack of Classic Champions since the restart? As I said - fucked-up ethics."
Another click of the remote and a silent version of Jameson's most recent promo was shown on the screen. Yet another and Taylor began to fast forward the footage. A timer on the counter in the top right of the screen counted the video to be just under sixteen minutes long.
"Sixteen minutes..."
Taylor then stopped and rewound the tape backwards.
"One question, Jameson: Why? What exactly was it that took you sixteen minutes? And that was edited... How much was left on the cutting room floor?"
The tape stopped back at the beginning. Taylor clicked the remote and the promo began to play again, still silently. He paused it almost instantly. "OK... Why don't I take it upon myself to do a little experiment?", he asked rhetorically, a smile threatening to break out. "Why don't I see how long, or short, your promo could've been. I'll be honoured to do the voice of Jay Jameson. On the count of three, then."
One...
Two...
Three...
Click. The footage began to play again, in silence, from the start. As the lengthy shot of Jameson's living room aired, Taylor began to speak - quickly, clearly and to the point. He didn't do the accent.
"Magic, your promo was unorthodox in that I didn't see it coming. Were you seriously trying to mock me? Your acting was dire and the joke was most certainly on you. It was merely a poor attempt at mimicry. Furthermore, were it intended as a joke, it was a terrible one. For shame. Other than abysmal TV ratings, what had you hoped to achieve? You lack the charisma to be a true Lord. What have you done other than being around for a long time? If you'd only ever been something, then you might be lucky enough to be washed-up. Sadly, you're simply a loser. A bad joke."
Taylor slowed down for a moment, adding in his own note that "At that point, you simply would've introduced this D-Blow and have been done with him. No need to prolong it..."
All the while, the tape continued. On the screen, Jay had just retrieved the ingredients of a sandwich from the fridge.
Taking half a second to compose himself, he continued: "This is D-Blow, my bodyguard. Yes, the one that took out Seven during Titan. D-Blow could win the tournament for me, but I believe I possess the tools required to go all the way on my own. What could be argued as my Achilles heel, my lack of knowledge regarding GZW history, is a non-factor. Magic goes on and on about it enough for me to know what's going on. I find Magic dull and boring. He goes on about the past when it's the future that matters. Don't waste your time with any further ...Mockery promos, as you should be concerned with me - Jay Jameson - and exactly what I'm going to do to beat you in the first round."
D-Blow had just burst onto the screen when Taylor had finished. He took another pause before finishing up.
"In conclusion, I'm going to add another five minutes by simply making base insults at my potential opponents and rate them all on a scale of one to ten. The running gag, however, is that they nobody receives higher than five... Except for Jay Jameson, of course. Fin."
"...See, Jay. That's how it could've been done", declared Taylor, checking his wristwatch. "...How it should've been done - six and a half minutes. Jay, all that time wasted just builds up and builds up. Which takes me back to precision. Going into something like the Lord of the Coliseum tournament, everyone's looking to prove to everyone else that they're going to win. As messy and overly drawn out as it was, I was able to salvage some of my earlier points from your latest promo and cut them down to the basic bones. You work from there. Sandwiches aren't going to do the trick, Jay. In the grander scheme of things, the sandwich in your promo was completely and utterly irrelevant. It served absolutely NO purpose, and that was a mistake. Learn from your mistakes, Jay."
"I'm certainly learning from your mistakes, anyway... Jay, your foolish and needless ratings got me thinking - If anyone at all, who should be rating his opponents? The man to beat, of course. The man with the laser sighter pointed squarely at his forehead... The World Heavyweight Champion. However, I see ranking as nothing but a pointless exercise, something the equivalent of cutting bread for a sandwich whilst cutting a promo... I like to think of this as more of an assessment of the threat posed by each of my possible opponents..."
"...and it starts with you, Jameson."
Another click on the pointer and some collective footage of Jameson in action over the past few weeks was shown.
"Interesting confidence levels, to say the least, for a man without a single victory under his belt. Jay, I already discussed your lack of precision and direction. That'll be a major problem for you. Your naivety isn't a trait I would suggest you keep up much longer, either... Right now, the way I see it, your threat to me is nil. You are neutral in that the likelihood that you will progress past Sean Fiery and the first round is all but non-existent. Is assuming this naivety on my part? It most certainly isn't. It's simply strategy and looking at things from a logical perspective. Knowing the level Sean Fiery is it, and in addition knowing that he is a veteran of the Lord of the Coliseum tournament, looking to stroll into the Coliseum tomorrow night and breeze past him on the basis that he's 'old' and 'boring' really doesn't look like the best possible strategy for you, all things considered. In fact, I'd be more naive to assume that you could beat Fiery. Why should I bother preparing for an all but impossible Possible Opponent when I know for a fact he isn't anywhere near prepared. Jameson, you are walking head-on into the eye of the Storm. I wouldn't imagine that too many of our co-workers envy you, honestly... Enjoy your descent."
Taylor promptly clicked the pointer and the screen display changed to a montage of Kaine in action. "Ah, the best of the best", uttered the Lone Gunman with blatant sarcasm. "The question must be asked; Exactly what threat is a man who nobody else as a threat at all? Not much of one, it'd be safe to assume. Kaine, we've seen nothing from you in practically a month... You decide to show up, the day before the event and THEN proclaim your greatness? Don't get ahead of yourself, Untouchable. I've already disproved your theory that You Can't Beat What You Can't Touch, so I won't even get into that. What I will touch on, however, is something that you said that really struck a chord with me. What was it again? Maybe my next clip'll refresh my memory..."
One click later, the words "Crimson: 15 June 2004" appeared across the screen behind Taylor. Slow motion footage of the conclusion of the Kaine/Taylor World Heavyweight Championship Tournament Second Round match was shown:
Taylor somehow
manages to power out of the pin at the last second to the disbelief of Kaine.
Kaine gets in the face of the referee yelling at him that there was a three
count but the ref stands by his count and doesn’t back down. Taylor goes to
sneak up on Kaine but he quickly turns around and goes for a kick to the temple
but Taylor grabs the leg and flips him to the ground before locking on the
“Silencer” in the middle of the ring.
Arnold: “Get out Kaine!”
Kaine screams in pain as he desperately tries to find some way to reach the
ropes or escape the move. Kaine drags himself across the ring and just as he’s
about to reach the ropes Taylor drags him back to the middle of the ring and
applies more pressure to the hold. Unable to take anymore pain Kaine begins to
slam his hand on the mat as the ref calls for the bell.
Arnold: “Kaine you idiot!”
"Blind... Dumb... What was it?"
Taylor rewound the tape slightly before pressing play once again. The footage repeated, particular emphasis this time put on Kaine tapping out.
"Luck!!! That was it, right? With a straight face, you told me that, although you willingly made the decision to squeal and tap out, my winning was pure, dumb, LUCK???!! Kaine, leave the bad comedy to Sean Fiery. Your threat to my chances of taking the Coliseum are zero, for any number of reasons. The obstacles of Kid Kaos and Magic or Jay Jameson for one and two. If, through some fucked-up-ethics miracle, you did make it to the final to face me, however, then I'd be more than happy to rewind to our first encounter. Maybe then you could clarify exactly what it was you meant by pure, dumb, luck."
The World Heavyweight Champion clicked the remote once again. The new screen displayed the characters "2-0" in big, bold, bright letters.
"Two to nothing. Ring any bells, Dark Angel?"
"I'm sure it doesn't, as your memory seems to be as limited as your in-ring arsenal. Seven, for all your trash talk and menacing words directed at yours truly, it has to be said that you really aren't in the comfortable position you may think you are. I've beaten you twice in singles competition, Seven. That's twice I pinned your shoulders to the mat for a three count. That's saying something, Lord. What kind of people would willingly be governed by an incompetent ruler? Are you sure you aren't the paper champion of which you speak? Or do you know what that means? Regardless, Seven, I feel a change coming on..."
He clicked the remote. The next screen displayed the characters "3-0" in the same typography.
"Three nil, Seven. What does that mean?" Taylor asked condescendingly, stroking his chin. "Does it mean that John Taylor is going to beat you AGAIN? Hardly, Seven. The addition of the extra one is simply your official initiation into the Minor Threat group already populated by Kaine and Jay Jameson. Seven, you aren't even going to make it to the second round to face me. Pimp Bizkit will no doubt see to that. As wide as his shortcomings may be, he knows deep down that there is no way his career could possibly survive another nosedive, and a first round elimination at the hands of Seven would certainly do that. Hey... Maybe Spartan will let you defend the TV Title some time...?"
"Speaking of Pimp Bizkit, what threat does he bare to my quest?"
A particularly loud click of the remote is followed by a still, black and white image of a motionless Pimp Bizkit being pinned by Tonya Glory in the famed World Heavyweight Title match on the September 28th edition of Crimson. This fades into a short clip from Fallout: Collision Course of Pimp failing to make it back to the ring in the time to break up Taylor's pin cover on James Tanner, ultimately allowing Taylor to win the World Heavyweight Championship.
"The evidence speaks for itself, Pimp. But really, it'd be just big-headed of me to declare you as a nothing of a threat. In fact, you bare the threat of five men. The Heretics, that is. To your credit, we both know you're making it to the semi-final. But that's the end of the line for you, Living Legend. Your recent poor showings have really seen you slip a noteworthy distance from the legit title picture, and you'd really want to pull something fantastic out of that lime green hat to even be in with a chance tomorrow night. A word of advice, though - Keep the Heretics out of the way. We all saw how far his alliance with the Heretics of the time, the Chaos Theory, got Sean "Magic" Fiery last time around. Come to think of of it, the same could be said for Nathan Williams..."
A slow motion loop footage of Nathan Williams greeting young daughter Rachel with a large hug followed a mandatory click from the remote.
"Williams, my first round opponent. Two, three years ago, I might've felt intimidated. No longer. Nathan, somewhere between the restart and the present day I realised that you really aren't all you're cracked up to be. At least not anymore. T-Rex was once the be-all and end-all. He was the guy that took the EWO Title from a pre-Spartan Kage, lost it to Firefly but took it back the very next week. Dare I say he was an enigma. He instilled fear. He was the biggest of them all, he could wrestle well for his size, and he could hold his own on the mic. Now, though, the generation that bred the T-Rex's and Magic's are all but extinct, and you, my friend, quite frankly look out of place. You're a modern day square. In spite of that, however, you're the HKWF World Heavyweight Champion. For tonight's exercise, however, that's all but irrelevant."
"Nathan, I hate to sound like a broken record, but whatever threat you once posed has been severely compromised. Perhaps, if we were going to be meeting in the final as opposed to the first round, I might be looking at things differently, but the FACT is that you are the ONLY man in the tournament I know for certain I'll have to face, and more importantly, I'll have to BEAT. Having come to that realisation a lot sooner than later, I was able to prepare accordingly. Nathan, although a man of your achievements will see it as an insult, you serve tomorrow night as my appetiser, my starter. It's as simple as that. You could say that I'm overlooking you - quite frankly, I am - but it'll make no difference now. Williams, I know what you're made of, and I know what same old tricks to expect from you. At least you've got the HKWF strap and Rachel to console you..."
Taylor fell silent, taking a seemingly much needed pause. A moment of silence passed as Taylor reflected on the large photo of T-Rex and his daughter for perhaps a moment too long. Shortly thereafter, he clicked the remote control and the screen switched to a video, with audio, of Kid Kaos' rap. Not half a minute in, he switches it off in apparent disgust.
"Threat? This child?", a perhaps overly cynical Taylor questioned. "Kid Kaos is one of two Lord of the Coliseum veterans in this year's tournament, succumbing to the eventual winner, Deacon Kane, in the second round. In Deacon's place this year is one of the two odds on favourites - myself being the other - Sean "Magic" Fiery. Am I saying that history will repeat itself and that Magic will pull a Deacon and go on to win the thing? No, I'm saying that history will repeat itself and that Magic will pull a Deacon and take care of Kid Kaos before I'm even involved. As evidence by the most recent Titan show-"
A click. Onto the screen is then projected a short clip from Titan dated November 4th, 2004:
KK is about to hit the move, but Gunman won't let it happen. Gunman reverses it and hits Violence of Silence.
Samson: LOOK AT THAT! LOOK AT THAT! THE MOVE CAME OUT OF NOWHERE!
Crumb: Amazing!
Gunman and KK both seem out of it. Gunman is atop KK after the move. Senior Ref Dark drops to count.
1…
2…
3!
Crumb: John Taylor wins! John Taylor wins!
Nelson: This was a great back and forth match and the World Champion just got it out of nowhere.
Samson: I told you, he would take it to this young punk.
Taylor continued; "-I'm perfectly able for Kid Kaos. The simple fact, though, is that Magic taking out Kid Kaos saves me a considerable amount of work. Don't get me wrong, though. By no means is Kid Kaos another harmless ones. In fact, he is among the top few competing today, which is exactly why I hold him in the high regard I do going into the tournament. As much or as little as Kaos might have his eye on the proverbial ball, he can still do a LOT of damage... One thing I learned from my recent match with him was that he's a fighter. He's a survivor. He won't quit. Will that be enough to beat Sean Fiery tomorrow night? No, I don't think so. I do think that it will be enough to considerably calm the Desert Storm, to perhaps bring him back to reality..."
"Which brings me to my final subject of the evening - Sean "Magic" Fiery."
Taylor gave the remote two rapid clicks. The screen went blank and the lighting inside the small media room returned to normal. Taylor, as he'd perhaps been doing for some hours, was still standing upright in the middle of the room. Still wearing the same simple, unremarkable clothing.
"For this final assessment, I'll need no remote controls", said the Lone Gunman, discarding the pocket sized remote control he'd been holding for quite some time. The accidental and ultimately useless click of it hitting the polished wooden floor was the last it made. "...I'll need no projectors or hard copy evidence. All my evidence is up here", he said, pointing with his right index finger to his head.
"It's taken Sean Fiery a week to plough through his Chronicles Of Mockery in some attempt to win over the crowd for the home stretch, when it really counts. And he hasn't even 'done' me yet... In the last hour, I've addressed, dissected and verbally torn through every single person in the tournament, himself included. I did all of that without resorting to mimicry. I did it without makeup. Without wigs. Without costumes. Without the bullshit. I trimmed the fat. I trimmed away all the fucking high spirits and cut to the chase. I told it like it is, because, quite frankly, the proverbial bush has been beaten around enough. The time of the poker face is gone. The masks are of no use any longer. The truth needs to be told..."
"What originated as, and is still unjustly promoted as, an eight man tournament, quickly became a two horse race. Dark horses there were scattered here and there, but they ultimately fell by the wayside. In the lead up to the event itself, mindset is just as important as physical health. To have the edge over an opponent before a match is always a plus. In this case, it's crucial. Early on, there were the disillusioned ones, people like Kaine and Jay Jameson genuinely believing that they'd stand a chance, but ultimately, they had just become disillusioned. They'd fallen in love with the prospect of the masses calling them Lord and forgot that to attain such greatness, unbelievable levels of commitment, endurance, work rate and physical strength were required. You had your early starters in Jameson and Pimp Bizkit, ultimately burning themselves out, and of course, your late bloomers in Kaine and Kid Kaos, but in the end, it was just too little, too late, they'd already been lapped tenfold by two constants, two consistent workers and two amazing talents wanting to solidify and cement their respective statuses more than anything in the entire world."
"John Taylor and Sean Fiery. The Lone Gunman and Magic. HKWF's Hitman and The Desert Storm. Behind all the stage names, myself and Sean are two mere worker ants wanting to be recognised as something more. We work and we work and we work. We go through show after show, match after match. Opponent after opponent. We've had signs of ups. We've certainly had downs. We've both been screwed over by more than one Entity, but for once, it's down to the two of us. It's right there, dangling in front of our very noses. They all say it comes down to who wants it more, but there is a part of me that genuinely believes it's impossible to tell..."
"Admittedly, Fiery had the advantage going into the tournament, having past experience the first time around. He knew what to avoid. He learned that the hard way last time, and unfortunately for me, karma seems to be swayed in his favour. Is that going to stop me? No. Magic believes this is his dream. He believes it is his destiny. He believes, beyond belief itself, that fate has him pencilled in for one fairytale ending. As much respect as I have for you, Sean, I want this FAR too much to let that happen... I'll fight it nail and tooth, Sean. I'll fight until my very last breath. I'll do what I have to do... I don't particularly want to steal a deserving man's dream away from him and shit all over his retirement plans, but in all fairness, you brought up Naked Confidence and the perfect ending... You made a decision to throw your hat into the Lord of the Coliseum, and so you've got to accept the risks that come with it. The way I see it, I've got no choice..."
"You made your bed, you're going to lie in it..."