Sunday, May 29th, 2005
Live From Daytona Beach, Florida
NLR Has A Grudge
[ Silence is among the scenes of this place. The sky is dark, but suprisingly that matters not as we are inside an old building somewhere in the outskirts of reality that normal people look upon with a frown. The window of the room is lamented with thick dust and gives the room a even more dingy feel than what is already present through out. The carpet is covered with dust aswell. On the walls of the room there are band posters, The Cure, Sisters Of Mercy, The Bauhaus, Joy Division... Custom goth band. Around the room there are a few old candles aswell which are lit. In the middle of the room on a wooden chair sits a man, all in plain black. Plain black jeans, a pair combats boots and a black t-shirt with a pentagram upon it. His face is covered by a black veil, but he speaks. The voice is somewhat familiar.]
Voice: Gather, gather and listen carefully. Quit your idiocy for all of five damn minutes and listen to what I have to say. I welcome you all to my parlour of macabre. My castle of oppress. Do you feel at home? No? Good. This place is not your home, it is mine. My place to reside and defend but lets say the surrounding are becoming a little too enclosed. I have not enough space to surround me and well I have my eye sets on something alot bigger. Let your insulence flow away like a river and use your braincells for just a second and think what I could possibly talking about.
[ He lets the room lay in silence for a few seconds, giving the people a chance to think before speaking once again.]
Voice: That's right you petulant people, your little federation that resides as a centre to your meaningless masculine civilisation that thrives off of grease, money, sex, greed and gluttony. See, I've been in mourning. Paying my last respects to something the NLR will never come close to. The MWF. I've been thinking about what next. I thought I was done and dusted, fading into the shadows but then I realised that somewhere in some pathetic pit ran by half-whit twirps with mediocre imaginations and less than average brain capacities something like this would be set up to try and ease the grief lost by the death of the MWF. An old friend directed me this way with the wise words that gave me an impression of your home... 'Not much competition but a good place to build yourself back up in the mean time'.
[ A short laugh bellows from beneath the black silk veil. The talking continues after the echoing ends.]
Voice: He's right though and I am here. When I reveal my identity a little later on there will be not many who welcome me with open arms and smiles. I'm here to take this place apart as all it resides to be is a floating wannabe of what MwF used to be. Hell this place has more useless talent than a retirement home has youth. A guy like me who ran riot in the MwF will have no problem bashing skulls and reeking the rewards that come with it, if you get me my friends. See, after having a little 'heart to heart' with that asshole Marcus Anderson who runs little hellhole... I left him fickle, ready to bend into whatever I wanted. Hell, if I wasn't so principal based I bet that poor maluable bastard would have handed me his wife with her legs wide open and the National title on the same night.
[ His sick jokes obviously effects his humour as he laughs a little more. ]
Voice: I'm just a source of talent this place needs to give it the good tug to the gutters it needs. To give it a more hardcore feel rather than manifactured. The rules will not apply when I step inside that poor contraption for a ring you have and do whatever I need to to get to the top of this little company. The date and time have been set my friends and I'm going to let you in on me and Mr Anderson's little secret....
[ He lifts his pale right hand and raises it towards the veil. He grabs the fabric and slowly peels it off of his head to His his true identity. There sits a legend of the wrestling industry, The Grudge. His hair is long and black and dreadlocked like it was in his glory-days inside the UWF. His eyes are masked with blood shot patches and black bags underneath. He wears a slight amount of eyeliner as he smile into the camera.]
The Grudge: Suprised? You better be. For those of you who are either retarded, blind or deaf... I am one of the most influential figures of hardcore wrestling ever to step inside the ring with a weopan. I am The Grudge and it's a burdon to meet you all. I'm Mr Anderson's little secret... One of the biggest things to happen to the wrestling industry and I sit before you tonight to announce myself.
[ He wipes his brow with the black silk veil and then tosses it onto the dusty carpet.]
The Grudge: Now it's time to scare the living day lights out of one individual. Who could it be? Fear. Hello. If you haven't caught on I'm not exactly the conversational type and well I'm just going to give you the plain details. Me... You Friday Night. My warped soul will make its way to the ring for the first time in NLR and take your poor sorry ass apart in a match that has a great reward to reep and convey. A shot at the NLR national title. That's right. A straight up match where me and you will take each other on and fight for the chance to gain the national title.
[ His muscular face produces another smile.]
The Grudge: I hope your poor ass is ready because I'm in the shadows plotting your downfall and well, to say the least... It isn't looking pretty...
[ With that his pale face is zoomed in on and we fade for a commercial break.]
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