Post by MattOliveira on Nov 8, 2009 15:55:39 GMT -4
The following is a match from 2007 in GHW, well, not a match, but a no-show that I'm posting because Rawb loved it. It takes place between yours truly and Storm, who was the secondary wrestler of Skorpio (Santiago Elamo):
Wednesday Night Genesis returns live from commercial break, the crowd buzzing as the ring bell chimes thrice for the next contest.
LM: "Ladies and gentlemen, the next contest is scheduled for one fall, will be fought under Hardcore Rules, and can ONLY end in pin-fall or submission."
The crowd slowly turns to the entrance way, ready for the first of two competitors. The lights go out, leaving the arena in pitch black. Then, static plays on the titan-tron, as if to find a signal of a television channel. Then, high beat double-kicker drumming plays of "Puritania" by Dimmu Borgir- ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3ZYKSDbwQE ), a electric blue light shining on the stage, laced with small bits of red.
Then, a countdown clock from old films shows up on the titan tron.
The guitars break in, the stage turning red as Matt walks out from behind the curtain. He is clothed in a black sleeveless t-shirt with the K Ensign on the front, black elbow pads, taped fists, new black denim shorts -ripped just past knee length, black knee pads, combat boots, and a maroon plaid long-sleeve tied around his waist. His hair is wet from a dousing from a water bottle, his chin and jawline stubbled and unshaven. His complexion is rather pale, bitter, or sickly. Rather than his eyes blank and emotionless, they carry a bit of angst, appearing of slight mental instability. His lower lip is tightened, slightly wincing, yet his brow contradicts and furrows.
The K Ensign:
He reaches the end of the stage, now visible that he carries two weapon-filled trash cans by the handle, one in each hand. With his arms busy, not to mention his mind racing through depression, violence, and a ton of self-interrogation...he simply pauses at the top of the ramp. His head raises an inch, glancing slowly to the left and right, his face bearing the emotionless plague now. Then, he readjusts one hand on the can, and continues down the ramp.
He continues his swaggered "March of Death", the cans shifting slight from his lifeless arms hanging off of their shoulders. Lizzie gives Matt his introduction for the night.
LM: "First, weighing in at two hundred and fifty-five pounds, and standing in at six-foot and one inch tall...he is the "Hardcore Genius", Matthew Oliveira!"
The crowd presents a bumblebee-like jeer, following the standard of the wrestling fan. However, many remain quiet, unsure or having the ability to relate to the personal stresses in Oliveira's life. Either way, they look on in slight awe, questioning if the happenings of the Shattered Dreams match played more psychological damage than physical.
While the first actual verse is sung, Matt's lip-syncs it exactly, proving he still has contact with reality. He reaches the ringside and carelessly tosses in the pair of trash cans, objects of metal -and potentially pain- flutter about from the open mouths. He slithers into the ring, keeping on the plaid cloth for whatever reason.
Matt gets to his feet, walking over to the camera side ring ropes. His poses in the crucifix whilst the next verse is quoted. Again, he lip-syncs it.
"Puritania" ends, playing the full loop as Matt turns to face the entrance ramp, waiting for Storm. Before him lay his weapons, balled fists, and bad intentions. Just before Lizzie is about to signal for Storm, the last line of "Puritania" cuts her off, leaving an eerie ending.
TBCB Storm
***
The fans grow quiet, Lizzie waits for Storm's entrance, and Matt waits with his stare. He continues looking at the stage for another moment, seconds feeling like hours to the dark weapon-wielding man. With a pressured breath, he picks up a trash can lid, the underside of it is super-glued with thumbtacks (more than likely the cousin of the Thumbtack Chair), turning to Lizzie and swiping the microphone away, out of her hands. Matt returns to his standing point before the pile of weapons, lid in one hand, microphone in the other.
Matt: "Right...listen...most of you kids in the back need to realize I thing called "commitment". That's basically keeping your word -and we all know I'm one to keep my word. Of course, I'm not the problem here, some velvet-sporting prick named Storm is. A few weeks ago, he told YOU people that he's back, he's ready to go...but when the time comes, right now, he's nowhere to be seen. He is no longer representing a Storm, nor any torrential downpour of any kind. Storm is now choosing to represent a thundercloud in the desert. You can see it on the horizon, it's big, and you think it'll rain. You THINK it'll rain, yet all it does is downpour on the mountains, exausting it's content to become mere amounts of water vapor over the silicon sea. Is that a simile or a metaphor? You tell me, but it's damn fact and science -just like this case. But you see, I'm not being sold out like a desert..."
Matt drops the thumbtack lid and slumps into the corner, sitting in a pile of black denim, cotton, and the plaid long-sleeve. He holds the microphone to his mouth once more.
"...Storm, you have NO idea who you are dealing with. You only know me as the guy who did BETTER THAN you in the NeXus, because apparently that was your match. Nonetheless, I know you're here. I know where you parked your car, I know where your locker room is, I even know where you're sleeping -home or hotel- I know. I have a floor plan of this entire arena, trust me...I know where you are. But see, I'm reasonable this time around...you've got ONE more chance to get out here so I can start the massacre, or I bring the massacre to you. Your decision, your fate, my destiny. Because fate is something I can change...but destiny? Destiny is set in stone. Here's your last chance, kid..."
Matt holds up his free hand, and begins counting fingers.
"ONE!
.
.
TWO!
.
.
THREE!
.
.
FOUR!
.
.
FIVE!"
Matt keeps his hand raised while sitting, beginning to count down with his fingers.
" SIX!
.
.
SEVEN!
.
.
EIGHT!
.
.
.
NINE!!!"
Matt still holds his one index finger up, it's now or never.
TBCB Storm
***
"TEN!!!"
Matt gets to his feet, tosses the microphone to the outside only for Lizzie to exit and retreat it for the next contest. Matt brandishes a thumbtack chair out of one of the two trash cans, and climbs out of the squared circle. Oliveira marches up the ramp with anger and determination very present in his eyes, the chair swinging playfully from one hand.
JP: "This is not good...not good at all."
*The match was then ended officially, but not in this particular way.....*
***
Matt, accompanied by camera man, prowls through the corridors of the arena, looking for any sign of Storm. He continues down the hallway, various exclamations of "Storm" and "I warned you" echoing throughout. He reaches a door with "Storm" scrolled over a name plate, in which he pounds his fist into.
Matt: "Come on you linen-scoffed bastard! Get out here!"
Matt pounds on the door again, and a couple boots, small dents left behind.
Matt: "I warned you! I swore that this wouldn't end that way! It's time you learned what a Hardcore match REALLY is!"
Matt grabs the thumbtack chair by the legs, and swings it across the door, clashing and scraping it's surface. He repeats this twice more until he begins to thrash away at the doorknob and lock. Again, again, and again until it finally breaks off and the lock gives way. The door creaks open slightly, Matt lowers the chair and gives it one more boot. It flings open, only to reveal Storm charging out with a singapore cane. In an act of desperation, Matt raises the chair to protect himself, the cane glancing off of the steel, in which he can return with a kick to the abdomen. Storm drops the cane, doubling-over, and Matt waffles the ninja over the back with the chair, tacks sticking into the black cloth like a starry sky. Storm creaks up, flexing his shoulderblades from the shot, in which Oliveira gives him a harsh blow with the chair over the head.
Storm falls to the ground, Matt dropping the chair in the hallway and entering the room. He stands over his would-be opponent, reaching into his back pocket and removing a razor blade mounted with a cardboard handle -a prison shank, and approaching the body. He picks up Storm by the head to sitting, pressing the blade against the cloth of his forehead and proceeds in tearing apart half of the mask of Storm. He exposes the right side of the ninjas face, before digging the blade into his forehead and brow, Storm beginning to scream as Matt cuts him. Oliveira carves out two 1-2 inch gashes, before tossing the razor and follows up with a series of right hands to the wound. Blood splatters over his knuckles, then with a right elbow he drags Storm from his room to the hallway. The black crusader begins to get up, and Oliveira boots him in the head, sending him back to the ground. Matt grabs his opponent by the ripped cloth and takes him to his feet, applying a standing headscissors and hooking Storm's arms behind his own body. Oliveira leans back, powering his legs so his foes feet leave the ground, and lets his legs give way. Matt gives Storm a Concussion Driver onto the concrete, the thud of human cranium hitting the floor with a thud, blood dripping and pooling around his head. Oliveira rolls Storm over, taking the chair and placing it thumbtacks-down on his chest, and placing a forceful boot to the other side, hoping to puncture more holes into his enemy. Matt holds his boot there, screaming at a bystander to apply a three-count, he obliges.
1....2....3
Matt takes his boot off of Storm, "winning" the match, and bends to dig into his left shoe, removing a pierced Deck of Death card. He lowers the card to Storms blood-layered brow, coating one half in crimson and picking up his chair.
"...and YOU know I'm right."
Oliveira walks away, leaving Storm on the ground whilst medics begin to arrive at the scene.
End of Thread, and Storm's career.
Wednesday Night Genesis returns live from commercial break, the crowd buzzing as the ring bell chimes thrice for the next contest.
LM: "Ladies and gentlemen, the next contest is scheduled for one fall, will be fought under Hardcore Rules, and can ONLY end in pin-fall or submission."
The crowd slowly turns to the entrance way, ready for the first of two competitors. The lights go out, leaving the arena in pitch black. Then, static plays on the titan-tron, as if to find a signal of a television channel. Then, high beat double-kicker drumming plays of "Puritania" by Dimmu Borgir- ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3ZYKSDbwQE ), a electric blue light shining on the stage, laced with small bits of red.
"WE DO AWAY WITH YOUR KIND"
"COUNTDOWN TO EXTERMINATE THE HUMAN RACE"
Then, a countdown clock from old films shows up on the titan tron.
4
.
.
.
3
.
.
.
2
.
.
.
1
.
.
.
3
.
.
.
2
.
.
.
1
The guitars break in, the stage turning red as Matt walks out from behind the curtain. He is clothed in a black sleeveless t-shirt with the K Ensign on the front, black elbow pads, taped fists, new black denim shorts -ripped just past knee length, black knee pads, combat boots, and a maroon plaid long-sleeve tied around his waist. His hair is wet from a dousing from a water bottle, his chin and jawline stubbled and unshaven. His complexion is rather pale, bitter, or sickly. Rather than his eyes blank and emotionless, they carry a bit of angst, appearing of slight mental instability. His lower lip is tightened, slightly wincing, yet his brow contradicts and furrows.
The K Ensign:
"LET CHAOS ENTWINE -ON DEFENSELESS SOIL"
He reaches the end of the stage, now visible that he carries two weapon-filled trash cans by the handle, one in each hand. With his arms busy, not to mention his mind racing through depression, violence, and a ton of self-interrogation...he simply pauses at the top of the ramp. His head raises an inch, glancing slowly to the left and right, his face bearing the emotionless plague now. Then, he readjusts one hand on the can, and continues down the ramp.
"REMOVE ERRORS OF MAN AND SWEEP ALL THE WEAKENING KIND"
He continues his swaggered "March of Death", the cans shifting slight from his lifeless arms hanging off of their shoulders. Lizzie gives Matt his introduction for the night.
LM: "First, weighing in at two hundred and fifty-five pounds, and standing in at six-foot and one inch tall...he is the "Hardcore Genius", Matthew Oliveira!"
The crowd presents a bumblebee-like jeer, following the standard of the wrestling fan. However, many remain quiet, unsure or having the ability to relate to the personal stresses in Oliveira's life. Either way, they look on in slight awe, questioning if the happenings of the Shattered Dreams match played more psychological damage than physical.
" I AM WAR, I AM PAIN,
I AM ALL YOU'VE EVER SLAIN.
I AM TEARS IN YOUR EYES,
I AM GRIEF, I AM LIES!"
I AM ALL YOU'VE EVER SLAIN.
I AM TEARS IN YOUR EYES,
I AM GRIEF, I AM LIES!"
While the first actual verse is sung, Matt's lip-syncs it exactly, proving he still has contact with reality. He reaches the ringside and carelessly tosses in the pair of trash cans, objects of metal -and potentially pain- flutter about from the open mouths. He slithers into the ring, keeping on the plaid cloth for whatever reason.
"BYGONE ARE TOLERANCE -AND PRESENCE OF GRACE"
"SCAVENGERS ARE SENT OUT -TO CLEANSE THE HUMAN FILTH PARADES"
Matt gets to his feet, walking over to the camera side ring ropes. His poses in the crucifix whilst the next verse is quoted. Again, he lip-syncs it.
"I AM PURE, I AM TRUE,
I AM ALL OVER YOU.
I AM LAUGH, I AM SMILE,
I AM THE EARTH DEFILED.
I AM THE COSMIC STORM,
I AM THE TINY WORMS,
I AM FEAR IN THE NIGHT,
I AM BRINGERETH OF LIGHT!"
I AM ALL OVER YOU.
I AM LAUGH, I AM SMILE,
I AM THE EARTH DEFILED.
I AM THE COSMIC STORM,
I AM THE TINY WORMS,
I AM FEAR IN THE NIGHT,
I AM BRINGERETH OF LIGHT!"
"Puritania" ends, playing the full loop as Matt turns to face the entrance ramp, waiting for Storm. Before him lay his weapons, balled fists, and bad intentions. Just before Lizzie is about to signal for Storm, the last line of "Puritania" cuts her off, leaving an eerie ending.
"...EARTH...SUCCESSFULLY...ERASED..."
TBCB Storm
***
The fans grow quiet, Lizzie waits for Storm's entrance, and Matt waits with his stare. He continues looking at the stage for another moment, seconds feeling like hours to the dark weapon-wielding man. With a pressured breath, he picks up a trash can lid, the underside of it is super-glued with thumbtacks (more than likely the cousin of the Thumbtack Chair), turning to Lizzie and swiping the microphone away, out of her hands. Matt returns to his standing point before the pile of weapons, lid in one hand, microphone in the other.
Matt: "Right...listen...most of you kids in the back need to realize I thing called "commitment". That's basically keeping your word -and we all know I'm one to keep my word. Of course, I'm not the problem here, some velvet-sporting prick named Storm is. A few weeks ago, he told YOU people that he's back, he's ready to go...but when the time comes, right now, he's nowhere to be seen. He is no longer representing a Storm, nor any torrential downpour of any kind. Storm is now choosing to represent a thundercloud in the desert. You can see it on the horizon, it's big, and you think it'll rain. You THINK it'll rain, yet all it does is downpour on the mountains, exausting it's content to become mere amounts of water vapor over the silicon sea. Is that a simile or a metaphor? You tell me, but it's damn fact and science -just like this case. But you see, I'm not being sold out like a desert..."
Matt drops the thumbtack lid and slumps into the corner, sitting in a pile of black denim, cotton, and the plaid long-sleeve. He holds the microphone to his mouth once more.
"...Storm, you have NO idea who you are dealing with. You only know me as the guy who did BETTER THAN you in the NeXus, because apparently that was your match. Nonetheless, I know you're here. I know where you parked your car, I know where your locker room is, I even know where you're sleeping -home or hotel- I know. I have a floor plan of this entire arena, trust me...I know where you are. But see, I'm reasonable this time around...you've got ONE more chance to get out here so I can start the massacre, or I bring the massacre to you. Your decision, your fate, my destiny. Because fate is something I can change...but destiny? Destiny is set in stone. Here's your last chance, kid..."
Matt holds up his free hand, and begins counting fingers.
"ONE!
.
.
TWO!
.
.
THREE!
.
.
FOUR!
.
.
FIVE!"
Matt keeps his hand raised while sitting, beginning to count down with his fingers.
" SIX!
.
.
SEVEN!
.
.
EIGHT!
.
.
.
NINE!!!"
Matt still holds his one index finger up, it's now or never.
TBCB Storm
***
"TEN!!!"
Matt gets to his feet, tosses the microphone to the outside only for Lizzie to exit and retreat it for the next contest. Matt brandishes a thumbtack chair out of one of the two trash cans, and climbs out of the squared circle. Oliveira marches up the ramp with anger and determination very present in his eyes, the chair swinging playfully from one hand.
JP: "This is not good...not good at all."
*The match was then ended officially, but not in this particular way.....*
***
Matt, accompanied by camera man, prowls through the corridors of the arena, looking for any sign of Storm. He continues down the hallway, various exclamations of "Storm" and "I warned you" echoing throughout. He reaches a door with "Storm" scrolled over a name plate, in which he pounds his fist into.
Matt: "Come on you linen-scoffed bastard! Get out here!"
Matt pounds on the door again, and a couple boots, small dents left behind.
Matt: "I warned you! I swore that this wouldn't end that way! It's time you learned what a Hardcore match REALLY is!"
Matt grabs the thumbtack chair by the legs, and swings it across the door, clashing and scraping it's surface. He repeats this twice more until he begins to thrash away at the doorknob and lock. Again, again, and again until it finally breaks off and the lock gives way. The door creaks open slightly, Matt lowers the chair and gives it one more boot. It flings open, only to reveal Storm charging out with a singapore cane. In an act of desperation, Matt raises the chair to protect himself, the cane glancing off of the steel, in which he can return with a kick to the abdomen. Storm drops the cane, doubling-over, and Matt waffles the ninja over the back with the chair, tacks sticking into the black cloth like a starry sky. Storm creaks up, flexing his shoulderblades from the shot, in which Oliveira gives him a harsh blow with the chair over the head.
Storm falls to the ground, Matt dropping the chair in the hallway and entering the room. He stands over his would-be opponent, reaching into his back pocket and removing a razor blade mounted with a cardboard handle -a prison shank, and approaching the body. He picks up Storm by the head to sitting, pressing the blade against the cloth of his forehead and proceeds in tearing apart half of the mask of Storm. He exposes the right side of the ninjas face, before digging the blade into his forehead and brow, Storm beginning to scream as Matt cuts him. Oliveira carves out two 1-2 inch gashes, before tossing the razor and follows up with a series of right hands to the wound. Blood splatters over his knuckles, then with a right elbow he drags Storm from his room to the hallway. The black crusader begins to get up, and Oliveira boots him in the head, sending him back to the ground. Matt grabs his opponent by the ripped cloth and takes him to his feet, applying a standing headscissors and hooking Storm's arms behind his own body. Oliveira leans back, powering his legs so his foes feet leave the ground, and lets his legs give way. Matt gives Storm a Concussion Driver onto the concrete, the thud of human cranium hitting the floor with a thud, blood dripping and pooling around his head. Oliveira rolls Storm over, taking the chair and placing it thumbtacks-down on his chest, and placing a forceful boot to the other side, hoping to puncture more holes into his enemy. Matt holds his boot there, screaming at a bystander to apply a three-count, he obliges.
1....2....3
Matt takes his boot off of Storm, "winning" the match, and bends to dig into his left shoe, removing a pierced Deck of Death card. He lowers the card to Storms blood-layered brow, coating one half in crimson and picking up his chair.
"...and YOU know I'm right."
Oliveira walks away, leaving Storm on the ground whilst medics begin to arrive at the scene.
End of Thread, and Storm's career.
