SWF.com exclusive
The camera shows a simple, plain chair sitting in front of a SWF logo. From the right of the picture a figure comes in and sits down; the chin-length blue-black hair, steel-grey eyes and two title belts - one Tag, one World - identify him as one of the biggest stars in the SWF, possibly one of the biggest the company has ever seen, and one of the two main focal points for Genesis VII.
Michael Stephens.
Toxxic.
“I don’t normally do this much anymore,” the World Champion begins, “because the SWF has probably heard enough of my voice since I’ve been here. But I’m going to be talking to Tom Flesher, and let’s face it, this isn’t just any old match on any old show. It’s the main event of the biggest show of all time. I hope you’ll forgive me if I indulge myself this once.” He readjusts his title belts, takes a deep breath, and looks into the camera.
“Tom, I’m going to make a promise to you for our match at Genesis. It’s not going to be a promise about the end of your career. It’s not going to be a promise about some sort of serious injury like a broken neck, or something. Hell,” the straight-edger grins, “I’m not even going to promise to beat you, because I don’t make promises I don’t know for sure I can keep. It might be that come Monday, I won’t be able to do it. What I do promise to do is give you back something you haven’t had for quite some time.
“You see, early this year when you were competing as Ghost Machine 2.0, you lost some of your matches. Matches that Tom Flesher would have been expected to win, too. Now, my theory would be that it was partially because you were out of practice, but also because you were under a mask. At the time, no-one knew it was you. You didn’t have a reputation to protect, Tom,” Stephens says, “you didn’t feel the need to dig that little bit deeper. If you ended up losing, who cared? It was only Ghost Machine 2.0. It didn’t worry you that much.
“Now, more recently of course you’ve been cutting a swathe through the federation as yourself again, and you even teamed with Grappler to win the tag belts. But then of course,” the Englishman continues, “Landon and I took those belts from you. I pinned Grappler in the ring while Landon ran interference and cut you off. I saw your face as he brought you down Tom, brought you down a couple of feet from where I was making the cover. Your face showed anger and frustration… but no fear. You weren’t scared of losing the belts, but you were angry that you had.”
Stephens pauses and leans down, then comes back up with a can of Frost-brand Cola in his hand. He takes a swig, stifles a small belch, and replaces the can on the floor.
“Now, I know you get on well with Charlie,” he says, “but I’m willing to bet, Tom, that in your mind as you went back to the dressing room without the Tag Titles there was a little voice saying ‘it wasn’t my fault’. I mean hell, you’d dumped me on my head, right? Dropped me with the Logical Disconnect; all Charlie had to do was pin me, but he couldn’t manage it. If he’d done his job better, or quicker, you’d still have those belts now.” Stephens pauses for a moment, chews his bottom lip for a second, then grins.
“Here’s a little statistic that should give you pause, Tom. In 2004 we faced each other twice in tag matches, and you walked away the winner both times. In the first one, you and Grand Slam beat me and Jimmy Liston. In the second, if I remember rightly I was tagging with Jamie Drazon and you were, amusingly enough, with Maddix. But then,” the Englishman continues, “we faced off in two more matches. One-on-one, where I beat you clean, and the three-way with Janus for the World Title when I beat both of you. Theme was that you were better than me at teamwork, but without someone to back you up I came out on top.
“I’ve just beaten you in a tag match, Tom. We’re not reading from the old script anymore. I’ve got better. Have you? We’ll have to see. But I digress,” Stephens says, “I was talking about the promise I was going to make you.
“On Monday, at Genesis VII, you won’t have a mask to hide behind. On Monday, at Genesis VII, you won’t have a tag team partner to blame for your defeat. On Monday, at Genesis VII,” Mike continues, “it’ll be you, Tom Flesher, versus me for the World Heavyweight Title and the World Cruiserweight Title.
“And win or lose Tom, I’m going to make you earn the bastard things.”
The straight-edger leans forward, closer to the camera. Shadows gather on his face as he starts to block out the light, but the tone of his voice doesn’t change.
“I promise that at some point on Monday, you’re going to be wondering whether everything you’ve got is enough to beat me, Tom. You’re going to be worrying that it isn’t. At some point on Monday I promise that I’m going to give you back your fear, the fear you haven’t had for too bloody long. Not the fear of me.”
“The fear of losing.”
“The fear of everyone knowing that you gave your all, and you didn’t measure up.”
“Hell, the fear of walking out of the Toronto Skydome with the Canadian fans clapping and cheering you, giving you a standing ovation as the gallant loser who performed so well that despite the fact they hate your guts, they have to show their respect.”
“The fear of ending Monday night on anything other than your own terms.“
The Englishman reaches down and takes another swig of Cola, then leans back from the camera a little.
“If anyone can ruin your party, it’s me. If anyone can push you to the limit, it’s me. If anyone can make you sweat, strain and bleed in a match for the Cruiserweight Title, a belt you’ve disrespected and disgraced it’s me, because we’re playing double or quits, and you want what I’ve got too much to quit.”
Stephens stacks one title on top of the other, then takes a last swig of Cola and looks directly into the camera.
“You’ve been disrespecting the fans for weeks, Tom. That doesn’t really matter to me - they’ll get over it. But on Monday, like it or not, you’re going to give them the show of their lives. Because you’re going to have to bring everything you have to get this title off me, and everything you have might not even be enough.”
He leans close in one more time.
“I think it’s time to start worrying.”
FADE OUT
