Sands of Time - War Games vs Enigma
Jun 22, 2024 11:47:03 GMT -5
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Post by Rocco Mont on Jun 22, 2024 11:47:03 GMT -5
Since the inaugural conception of Smash one man has stood up top. This man has devoured competition without a smidgen of remorse.
David vs Goliath.
Young Rocco vs Enigma
Do you see the similarities?
[ SANDS OF HOPE ] < OFF CAMERA >
β This would be a light snack for Enigma β
He chuckled at the comment, but he also knew he was poking at the self-anointed monster machine. The old saying don't poke the hungry bear is clearly considered thrown out the imaginary window now. Getting up from his crouched position, he spotted the dust that was contained in his blue denim jeans. These jeans weren't just the average pair of pants; they were his favourites. Never mind the small tear in the fabric just above his left knee cap. Ignore the numerous faded spots that are clearly visible.Stood up in a fully straight vertical position with his eyes fully open, he checked his surroundings. The forest was thick to his left, but to his right, it was nothing but sand. The sand stretched as far as he could see, with little hills and mountains. With two options, he needed to make that life-altering decision. Did he stick to the left, more familiar trail he is used to? Or does he step out of his comfort zone, engage, and embark on the journey of the desert?
This boggles and spins inside his mind as he thinks on his feet. The forest represents the bloodbath division and his original path of professional wrestling.
You can guess the other path by now.
The right path across the desert, although more constrained and dangerous, was more exciting. By now, most people would assume that, unless you are completely brain dead, this represents an Enigma. Most people would gasp at the thought of chasing down the man who was labelled unstoppable and unbeatable.
Rocco didn't know any better.
He was young and naive, but he had balls of steel in certain aspects and situations. He took a giant swig of hydration drink before taking a deep breath and letting out an ear-deafening sigh.
Looking back at the forest, he knew he had to make a tough decision and deal with it. With his eyes locked in the direction of the forest, he raised his right hand and proceeded to put out his middle finger and raise it to the sky.
A decision was made.
The exact moment he took his first step into the desert and sand, the heat was different. Like an overheated furnace, his flesh was already cooking and sizzling like a pound of bacon cooked on high. Marching with forward momentum and movements, he proceeded.
The beads of sweat now trickled from his forehead, running down his face and cheeks. Just twenty minutes into his journey, he fell to his knees, begging the Lord above for the mercy of the heat to stop. The unbreakable Enigma would have continued this exact journey like it was a cake walk. With every single muscle in his body, he dragged his lifeless body back up to a standing position. He knew deep down that he needed to continue and not give up on this expedition. The light at the end of the tunnel was the key to defeating Enigma.
Forcing himself to continue through the pain and finish the choices he made on his own accord. With the sound of sand crunching underneath the weight of his step, he continued to walk.
It had been years since this part of the desert had seen any form of rain or water. On this one day, the lord above was looking out for young Rocco as the drips of water began hitting the top of his head. All of a sudden, what seemed like an impossible journey shifted to devastating weather constraints.
The rain was relentless as it poured down mercifully, soaking him in a matter of minutes. The lightning forked in every single direction, followed by the booming sounds of thunder. The clouds were thick and moving at a rapid pace, but they were also dark. Without a shelter, Rocco was forced to continue his walk in these mysterious weather conditions. In his mind, he considered this a representation of professional wrestling. One moment you could be enjoying the blissfulness of being a world champion, and the next it could be spoiled by unpredictable nature.
The walk, even though it was no longer heat-driven, was still mind gruelling. His mind wandered endlessly, thinking about that shiny golden goose they called the Smash Championship.
How could it possibly be that one man could hold that much power inside a company? Enigma has managed to not only defeat his opponents but also build a reputation for a mean streak. Rocco refused to allow himself to become just another statistic underneath the value of the monster machine himself.
With this new-found sense of desire, all of a sudden, the clouds and sky cleared up. Just like the parting of the red sea, the clouds split right down the middle. In the middle of the separation, the sun veered out, casting back the light that the clouds had hidden. This was a sign that the gods above were satisfied with the new found effort that Rocco has displayed.
[ MONSTERS AREN'T REAL ] < ON CAMERA >
The ticks of the clock cluttered the sounds of the room. Rocco was seated on a foldable metal chair that wasn't anything fancy. The words War Games were spray painted in thick red lettering across the back of the chair. With his shoulders and back leaned forward in the chair, he began speaking with a soft voice.
I already know exactly how much that championship means to you. You would do anything to keep that pride and joy from slipping away into another man's hands. You love that championship more than your own daughter, don't you?
Don't answer that quite yet, big man.
You see what this company is doing to you, don't you? You give, give, and give yet never get anything back, not even a thank you. This entire time you have been champion and travelling the road endlessly, your daughter has been at home begging to see her daddy nightly. This is how I know being a champion to you is more important than being there for her. The nights your daughter is sick, all she begs for is her daddy to hold and cuddle her, and you couldn't even do that, could you?
A real family man.
You are the same type of guy who probably drinks about fifteen beers after a match and goes home angry. All the while, you put on this act like you are all a happy family. My family is here with me; don't you remember that you were part of us at one point.
What happened, buddy?
You needed to protect the image that you were a serious, legit monster. When we were younger, we were made to believe that monsters didn't exist, but it was all lies and bullshit.
But you are not the monster of wrestling.
You are the monster who goes home and takes out life on your wife and kids. All we have ever heard from you over the course of your championship reign is nothing but aggressive speech and actions. So behind closed doors, that leftover pent up aggression spills over to personal life issues.
I'm not saying you beat your wife and kid.
But you certainly take it out on them from time to time. You see, I understand the sentimental value of the Smash Championship, but I also know all good things must come to an end.
A final resting spot.
Leaning back in his chair, the room goes silent, including the clock previously heard. With his fingers tapping excessively on his right forearm, his eyes darted from left to right as he recalled his train of thought.
There is not a single doubt in my mind that I will do whatever it takes to dethrone you. I know this match will be a testament to my willingness to survive, but I will walk that line. Not only will I walk that line, but I will also cross that battle line drawn in the sands of time. Once I cross that line, Enigma knows turning back is no longer an option I can afford.
Finally, a true challenge.
During the course of your title reign, it's easy to say you haven't faced a worthy opponent yet. The proof is in the pudding that Grado has already eaten. The only man who even stood a slim chance was John Cable, and even he couldn't get the job done.
He wasn't adequately equipped.
He was underprepared and overconfident that night, and it cost him dearly. If you ask me, John Cable hasn't been the same since that night. A once-feared man is now limited to teaming with a bunch of sore vaginas.
But you, Enigma.
You lost a match to Xavier Lux, which only goes to further prove that some people can get lucky. He must have had a horseshoe up his ass that night. With that kind of luck, he better seek a sponsorship deal for Lucky Charms and get paid. At least then, maybe Lux could look into a hair transplant procedure.
[ SANDS OF TIME ] < OFF CAMERA>
With time passing, he was beginning to lose sunlight quickly. Still pushing himself to make it across the desert. Losing all sense of time, he was also slowly losing his sense of reality. The journey had induced hallucinations, most likely due to heatstroke.
On one side of him, he was seeing a man called Jestyr, but something was different. He was undersized, almost like a small child, and was sitting inside a car seat. He was throwing a temper tantrum, and a lady was sitting next to him. Inside her hand was a bottle of milk she was trying to give him to not prevail.
God damn, this heat was getting to Rocco as he tried to wipe his eyes in pure disbelief. Snapping his head away from the ungodly sight, there was something happening on the other side. His eyes widened as the shocked look on his face became greatly exaggerated. He couldn't believe his own eyes when he spotted something absolutely absurd.
It was the not-so-slim Synn, but not as her usual self. A noticeable thick, bushy beard. A male version with a similar face paint schematic. Scratching his head and blinking numerous times, he tried to forget such an image. It was hard to ignore when his big, fat potbelly jiggled just over the waste line of his pants.
Taking the small amount of water he had left inside his thermos, he drenched his face and forehead. Thinking it was all over, the imagery of both Jestyr and Synn disappeared. Taking a few steps forward, he knew the only way to end this was to finish the journey he had started.
A few hundred feet away, the hallucination became more realistic. In front of him stood a realistic, holographic version of the monster machine himself, Enigma. The details and chiselled features were anatomically correct, down to the last detail.
Everything from the rock-solid ab muscles to the tattoos that aligned both right and left arm sleeves. He was neither grinning nor smirking, as his facial structure contained a blank stare. Rocco reached out with his right arm and waved his hand across the hologram. His hand and wrist sailed through the image without any physical restraints. During the action of checking out the hologram, he shouted.
β YOU ARE NOT REAL. β
The hatred and volume of his voice spanned and echoed across the plain of the desert. He is talking to himself now about the hologram.
β You are nothing more than a fictional character in the minds of the social gatherings we call fanatics. β
He mocked the hologram for several minutes in a couple different poses. The classic crotch chop every nerdy kid did in high school. The last pose out of the bunch was, of course, a Mont special, as he held up both middle fingers to the hologram.
Blinking a few times before clicking both heels of his shoes together, he chuckled to himself before saying.
β That Dorthy bitch lied to me in The Wizard of Oz. She told me if I clicked my heels three times, I would go home. β
He was disappointed in the fact that it didn't work, and he was still stuck in this savage bullshit desert. Walking without any more willpower to continue life, he walked again for about another twenty minutes. Coming to a complete halt, he pleaded once again with the man above.β Lord, if you are real, you will allow this nightmare to END. β
A short time later, the air felt different as a muscular, blonde haired man appeared. With tassels wrapped around his forearms and pearly white teeth, he smirked in the direction of Rocco before speaking.
β Did someone summon the Space Lord? β
Rocco is now confused and scratching his head in all sorts of directions. This was the first time he had seen this man before, and, a little sceptical in his judgement, he allowed him to speak.
β The only advice I could give you against Enigma is: Come to attack, and keep on attacking. Throw the pilots out of the cockpit, E-NIG-MA!!! Take control of the plane, E-NIG-MA! SHOVE THE PLANE INTO A NOSEDIVE E-NIG-MA! β
Again, these hallucinations were really messing with his mind. After the words of encouragement spoken by Space Lord, things were beginning to get better. As he walked forward, the desert came to a close, and as he took his next step, the temperature changed. It was a blissful, empty park with a wooden bench aligned in the middle. The grass was green, and the trees were packed with bright green leaves. Seeing this type of peace and satisfaction made the journey all worth the walk.
[ PEACE OF MIND ] < ON CAMERA >
He was still sitting on the wooden bench, catching his breath after what he had just endured. Sitting in peace and silence, just enjoying the peaceful sounds of nature surrounding his ears. The breeze flowed against the exposed limbs of his body as he spoke with a fluently calmed voice.
It's no longer about the journey or how we ended up here. It's no longer about the questions and answers that you seek so desperately. The path on which we both have walked may have been very different, but it has led us both to the same spot.
Standing across the ring with evil intentions.I know right now you want to rip my head off and prove a fucking point. We both know that Smash Championship can't be protected safe away forever. There will come a time when you come to the grips and realize you will need to let it go sometime.
So let me ask the question.
Is now that time?
I already know the reason you picked me as your opponent was because you didn't see me as a threat. You put your eyes on me, thinking no chance in hell will a man named Rocco defeat a man who's been untouchable in professional wrestling.
But no, no.
You misunderstood the assignment and ultimately chose the wrong person.
You want to know why?
Not even my very own blood cousin Joe could give you this level of intensity or competition. I can see the entire weight on your shoulders and the pressure mounting. Let's face the facts; you have nothing left to prove here on Smash. I, on the other hand, have everything to prove and gain from this match. Just imagine the headlines.
Rocco does the impossible.
Rocco slays the monster.
Rocco captures his first Smash Championship.
Don't they all have quite the ring to them, if you ask me.
He stood up from the wooden bench, stretching out his arms and legs. He paced back and forth for several minutes, his eyes darting back and forth. With a slight smirk on his face, he continued to speak with a little more anger in his vocals.
What are you going to tell your daughter?
After this night, when you are sitting inside the locker room with your head between your laps, a stream of tears runs down both sides of your cheeks, while she's asking Daddy what's wrong. It is the same feeling as a piercing arrow through the heart as it bleeds slowly.
Taking a deep breath and a moment of silence before continuing.
It's going to be even harder to hide the scars and wounds from her young eyes. Don't get lost in the dialect; this isn't all about your daughter. I eventually need to address you man-to-man and open your eyes. It's funny to me that even though most people hate the group I represent, I am still considered the underdog. Just remember that you chose the danger to dangle the line between risk and reward. You were quick to risk it all against me, expecting the reward to be unanimous. You made this match with the purpose of proving a point to my cousin, but I didn't expect a level of uncertainty. It's not a matter of opinion; it's facts staring at the monster dead in the face.
Last time I checked, monsters didn't exist under my bed.
That monster moniker might work on a weaker mind and opponent like Grado. It's no secret, and no, I am not talking about underarm deodorant. Grado is, in fact, afraid of his own shadow.
Look at me trailing off once againβ¦
Sitting back down on the wooden bench in silence once again. Rocco reached into his front pocket and produced a small Swiss army knight. You know the old-school one that has a red plastic casing and extends with a multitude of uses. It has a pocket knife and a corkscrew; some of them also have a small screwdriver. With the pocket knife blade stretched out, he gripped the handle of the knife and, with a sudden force, started carving into the bench.
Fuck You ENIGMA
It was a true statement of exactly how it felt at the time of the carving.
You wouldn't have expected that, being a Mont, I couldn't get through one promo without saying it.
Let's move on, shall we?
I know at some point the topic of my Bloodbath title is going to come up.
So let me explain.
Losing that title to that overgrown hemroid, Corey Bull, was the best thing to happen to me. I was weighed down by the shackles of a division that wasn't worthy of me. It took me just a small amount of time to understand that it wasn't for me that I had bigger and better titles in mind. After that loss, I made a promise to myself that I would no longer allow myself to be held back and confined.
He had finally freed me. From my own thoughts and my demons that were clouding my mind. That division has a scary way of turning you into a self-inflicted gunshot wound. I'm not saying I would ever pull the trigger, but I definitely wake up every morning feeling like it. Your entire body hurtsβthe cuts, not to mention the bruises and bumps.
It's the same reason wrestlers get addicted to painkillers.
You have to crawl on hands and knees in the morning just to make it to the bathroom. Everyday tasks, you used to feel like you were exerting all your energy just to make it by.
I'm not saying being a Smash Champion will be any easier. It's just a different type of energy and adrenaline being at the top of the company. Your run, though very impressive, is slowly coming to an end. The age-old question I'm still trying to answer.
How do you eliminate a monster?
The answer is whatever you want it to be, as I decide and dictate the narrative. Just like the story of David versus Goliath, all I need is one shot between the eyes to make it count.
That's the concept of a killshot.
David took the approach of a slingshot and a single rock right between the eyes. Of course, this is an entirely different situation. I need to dig deep and throw everything I have at you, and I hope it works. If I don't figure it out, I will end up like every other single opponent you have eased through.
But my name is ROCCO.
I didn't work my ass off and come to this company to be just another loser. I came to this company to prove my legacy in the MAIN EVENT status. You know that word legacy you throw around from time to time.
Well, this is the LEGACY of ROCCO.
and you are now welcome to enjoy it.
Making his way back to his feet from his sitting position. After a few seconds, he marched forward until the only thing in the frame of the camera was just his eye sockets and eyeballs. The intensity of his eyes spoke of a volume of aggression. With his eyebrows raised just above the camera frame, he utters one more line for the camera.
Let the fucking WAR GAMES begin.
Walking away from the camera and bench on which he sat, he moved to the side. It wasn't long before he faded away into the background, not visible anymore. All we had left was the sound of him whistling to himself, as the audio hadn't quite cut off yet.
I came, I saw, and I conquered.
Unthinking is about to happen.
I sent the old man back to his log cabin.
Empty handed when you arrive.