PROMO: Wake up call

[Guest Rabbi_wilson13]

A very poorly lit board room, deep in the bowels of an old, renovated plantation house near the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. It’s after Storm, and a group of seven simmering, powerful and more than ready men sit around a long oak table, the head of the table and its accompanying leather chair occupied by a man whose trench coat matches accordingly.

 

Along the sides of the table sit three men each, of varying sizes and dress, but each is rather tired and the darkness permeating in the room isn’t helping any either. The only light comes from a fireplace directly behind Chris Wilson.

 

“Gentlemen, sorry to call you together so late and after a long night, but there are a few things we need to address.”

 

He gets mumbles and half-sentences for his reply, but continues.

 

“There was a challenge laid out in front of us tonight. We of course did the only thing a group of our caliber could: We accepted it. And next Sunday night we’ll show the entire world why we are truly magnificent in every shape and form. Alliances and partnerships and deals with the devil matter not to me. To us. We are perfection. We are the greatest. We are dominant.”

 

“The fact is, however, we’re being overlooked. Don’t ask me how or why. Our loving and caring world champion is caring more about some no-name JLer and the freaking Clan for some reason. Apparently what we do, go out and win matches, isn’t as important as murdering random people then describing it too everyone who will listen in graphic, graphic detail.”

 

“Apparently everyone forgot the fact that I ran through the top of the freaking card, and still only have one loss, that being by the skin of my teeth to Edwin after interference by a certain one-lettered New Jersey native whose been taken care of by Danny and Frost lately. Apparently everyone forgot that the ICTV and light-heavyweight champions, not to mention the nuclear weapon and half of the reformed X Force 9, fell to me in a month. But it’s about time I remind people. And all of you as well. We’re the greatest team assembled, and on Smarkdown, and at Ground Zero and beyond, we’re going to prove it.”

 

“So next Sunday night, at Ground Zero, it’s us against them, and we’re going to need to assemble a nice little team. Now we’ve got it down to six, since Tyler isn’t-“

 

“I’m in.”

 

There’s a stir at the table and all the men look at the man formerly known as Outcast and the Prophet, a former champion and technical marvel.

 

“Excuse moi? Cast, buddy, you haven’t wrestled in quite a while.”

 

Tyler stares coldly at Wilson, firelight flickering between both men’s eyes.

 

“I want in, Wilson. For old time’s sakes. It is submission, correct?”

 

“Correct.”

 

Tyler McClelland rotates his neck slowly, a look of a deranged man in his eyes. A man who wants nothing but revenge. Revenge against nobody in particular, but a group of free willed Carnies and a demented occult figure doing just fine to start his off.

 

“Good. Then it’s me and you, and whoever else.”

 

Wilson slowly nods, an evil smile slithering across his face. “Excellent. We’ll come up with the other three later, but we’ve got-“

 

“Me too.”

 

Taylor Nicholas Thompson drums his fingers on the table, staring into the darkness.

 

“We were so close tonight. Edwin and Raynor barely escaped. I want them again. They’re finally going to see me explode.”

 

Wilson slowly nods as the Nordic monster leans forward in his chair and looks down the table at the former WF World Champion.

 

“I’m in as well. The Carnival got out with their gold and their lives tonight. At Ground Zero, they’re going to feel the Early Winter once and for all.”

 

Wilson smiles. “Perfect. Strangler, Daniel, Stryke, we’ll polish off the team later. Right now, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you gentlemen. As you all know and as I stated a few moments ago, Edwin MacPhisto is the only man to defeat me. The old adage goes, if you can’t beat them, join them.”

 

There’s a slight moment of confusion at the table as everyone assumes Wilson is announcing his intent at filing for membership at the Carnival. The evil genius realizes this and lets out a chuckle.

 

“Don’t be silly. I’m not joining them, but I do believe that we could force Edwin to join us.”

 

Stryke looks up at Wilson, thoroughly confused. “What? You’ve seriously lost it, my man.”

 

“I don’t believe so, my Australian compatriot. Edwin showed his dark side when he first entered the WF. He started edging back towards it when he became champion, becoming desperate to defend. Now he’s allying himself the Clan, his sworn enemies of wars past. And now he challenges us to one of the most brutal matches in wrestling history? Edwin’s near the edge, gentlemen, and with the proper probing, he’s going to fall over and right into our clutches.”

 

Tyler snorts. “You’re stupid fucking mind games. They don’t work, Wilson. Edwin isn’t joining you. Keep dreaming.”

 

Wilson nods. “He won’t be joining me on his on recognizance, but with a few suggestions and treatment-“

 

“You’re going to brainwash him?”

 

Wilson shrugs. “In so many words, I suppose. But that’s if he doesn’t finally snap on his own. Even if Edwin doesn’t join us, he’s a few steps away from becoming the monster he and his Carnie pals have fought their entire careers. That, my friends, will be worth the price of admission.” Wilson reaches under the table and pressures a button, the wall opposite sliding open to reveal a large screen. “But now its time for the entertainment part of the meeting. I believe all of you will enjoy this.”

 

All six men eye Wilson warily before turning their chairs towards the screen, which flickers to life, illuminating the room…

 

 

 

Most of the WF, groggy and tired after a long night, gather in the lobby of their hotel, some milling around in robes, others still in their warm up attire, half-dazed as they stumble about. Chris Raynor and Edwin MacPhisto, fresh off their tag victory, lean against one wall.

 

“I was just assuming it was going to be a big trap. Old school Wilson, or something. That’s what phone calls late at night after we just make very big challenges usually end up being.”

 

“That’s what I thought, too, Chrissy, but our good maniacal friend apparently has lost his marbles if he plans to take on the entire roster. Maybe it isn’t Wilson.”

 

Jay Dawg wanders over to a very out-of-it looking Stubby McWeed.

 

“Stubby, what the hell are you doing? Calling a meeting this freaking late? Or early?”

 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Dawg. I got a call requesting the presence of the greatest superstar of all time in the lobby. I figured I’d oblige.”

 

JD looks somewhat confused as the rest of the WF’s attention is caught by the hotel manager.

 

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen! I believe what you’re waiting for is outside.”

 

The entire roster grumbles and slowly mills outside, Edwin and Thoth catching glances from across the room but each being moved outside without further contact by the mass of humanity. The entire roster, slowly realizing that the Magnificent Seven is nowhere to be found and expecting a giant robot or tank of some sort to be ready to annihilate them all is quite surprised to see the entire street in front of the hotel blocked off and a truly intriguing instrument of destruction taking up the avenue on large choral risers set up:

 

A gospel choir.

 

“Pete, does this stuff happen often?” Tod looks at his new stablemate as the old equation of “Fatigue x Confusion = Extreme Confusion” comes into play.

 

The Long Doggah simply sighs. “More often than we’d like.”

 

The rumblings of the herd is silenced as the choir, decked out in robes and looking not really that evil, begin to sing.

 

“This is your time to pay,

This is your judgement day,

We made a sacrifice,

And now we get to take your life.

 

We shoot without a gun,

We'll take on anyone,

It's really nothing new,

It's just a thing we like to do.

 

You better get ready to die,

You better get ready to kill,

You better get ready to run,

Cause here we come,

You better get ready to die.”

 

Z looks over at his Mexican friend. “Mag, I don’t like this song.”

 

“Me either, esse. Me either.”

 

”Your life is over now,

Your life is running out,

When your time is at an end,

Then it's time to kill again,

 

We cut without a knife,

We live in black and white,

Your just a parasite,

Now close your eyes and say good-night-“

 

As the second verse finishes, the entire street is plunged into darkness, the growing crowd of Friday night socialites lingering around taken by surprise just as much as the group of colorful characters watching in awe as the large office building opposite the hotel becomes the only source of illumination on the block. It’s entire side slowly begins to glow as huge projectors light it up, turning it into a large movie screen for all to see.

 

Slowly old clips of WCW and NWA begin to play, jagged-edged, black and white, half-second clips shown at a nauseating speed as if being played on a projector used for “The Jazz Singer.” Ric Flair. Hulk Hogan. Arn Anderson. The Road Warriors. Sting. Luger. The Horsemen. The NWO. The clips slow down, showing bloody, beaten and broken warriors going at it inside a massive steel cage. The clips move in slow motion as the poor victims at the end of the match scream in agony and finally tap out, ending the torture.

 

Then the clips switch to those of the WF. That of the Magnificent Seven beating down whoever happens to be around at the time, taking advantage of their numbers and doing what they can to cause general devastation. The Carnival is on the main end of some of the first beatings, but slowly the Clan is incorporated.

 

Now the clips are intertwined, Ric Flair, then Chris Wilson. Sting, then Edwin MacPhisto. Then, in an instant, the entire cage comes crashing down, the fragments of metal slowly swirling around to form a rather elaborate, yet so simple message.

 

“See you at Ground Zero.”

 

The screen fades from the building as the lights slowly come back up. The crowd grumbles.

 

“This early for that?“

 

“I wish I got to grind Wilson into that cage-“

 

“Ooo, we’ve got seven guys and projectors…”

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

 

A powerful staccato of explosions is met by the shrill screams of women and the cries of many others. The dark office building just used as a screen lights up the warm night once more as window after window is blown out, fire jutting out into the sky, curling and flickering as the glass slowly falls to the street below.

 

Slowly the explosions die down as fire whistles begin to sound in the background. But they’re not needed as it’s been a controlled pyro display. All the men and women standing in the street look up, but five in particular. Those five who will be putting everything they have on the line next Sunday against five completely deranged warriors. Burning in the side of the structure, in perfect order as if someone had stenciled them there were two very distinct characters flaming outwards in bright orange, flickering:

 

"M7"

[Guest chirs3]

You... you thought we were serious?! Oh ho ho, ha ha, Wilson you kidder you! Just a joke! No War Games for us, no siree!

 

Not after a promo like that.

[Guest Ace309]

Ho.

 

Lee.

 

Shit.

 

 

 

 

I bow before my promo god.

[Guest Kibagami]

It's okay, Raynor. I'll take your spot.

 

After all, this no-name JLer does hold an omitted win over Mr. Wilson.

 

*steps on the lawn*

[Guest 5_moves_of_doom]

Well...we should win by default, just based on that.

[Guest midnight_burn]

As always Wilson, splendid work.

 

A very nice promo, Ground Zero will definately be quite the event.

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

This was Wilson's thought process:

 

He IM'ed me saying "I want to blow something up"

 

I suggested teh Love Rollercoaster

 

He suggested another building

 

He blew up the building

[Guest Rabbi_wilson13]

Oh, okay! Sorry, Raynor. I get confused sometimes.

 

That would be a default win, Silent, after I retired because I was too busy becoming WF world champion to handle two characters. And don't take offense, son. You know I respect your skillz, but this is my character. I'm arrogant and mean.

 

Strangler's exactly right, though working through my thought process, I wanted to combine:

 

1) Blowing something up

2) The lyrics to "Ready to Die"

3) A meeting with M7

4) Some reference to WarGames

5) A gospel choir

 

There you go ladies and gentlemen. Late night promoing at its freaking best. Now, I had comments for half the show done before my explorer crashed. Not good. I'll start again, and hopefully get them up at sometime. Peace!

 

EDIT/RESPOND - I can handle that. Knock yourself out, though Cast may get mad. Not like his female killing ass could do anything about it anyway.

[Guest Kibagami]

Eh. Honestly...I just wanted to step on the lawn.

 

::Jumps up and down on said lawn::

 

S.

[Guest Tyler McClelland]

I gave you a warning...

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

We waited a year for something else to blow up, and lo, it has happened.

 

Add in the second best song off of I Get Wet, the whole roster, and some beeeeautiful insinuations and mayhem...marvelous. Epic. Masterful. Oh, I am so pleased. I have no idea how to counter-promo that. Superb.

[Guest Tyler McClelland]

Nicely done, my friend...

 

You blew something up very nicely.

 

But...

 

...

 

You called me Outcast.

 

Fucker.

 

 

Naw, playin'. You write destruction better than anyone in the SWF and I'll give you mad props for that. Good promo.

[Guest kelloggs]

One Evil Genius was had at work...

 

As the Flesher man said I bow down to your holy promoage. That was really good stuff and that thought process is very interesting. How in the hell did you even think to work a choir into it?

 

For some reason that explosion reminds me of Fight Club. Is it just me?

 

M. Francis

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

Nah, it definitely reminded me too, Mak. The big smiley face on the side of the building and all.

 

The fact that Outcast's name is Tyler and he's hearing voices doesn't help either...heh.

[Guest Tyler McClelland]

HAH!

[Guest HVilleThugg]

BOOOOOOO!!!

 

I said BOOOOOO!!

 

That sucked!!

 

Wilson, you bitch...you're not allowed to blow shit up without me!! It just isn't the same!!

 

Good shit though...although I liked it better when you blew up FAQ Swartz...well, loved it and hated it at the same time...next time, blow up a building with the Carnival in it....duh!

 

Da "original Wilson muscle" H

[Guest Beingz0wningj00]

Well Wilson... you blew something up and I didn't stab you? oh yeah... I'm not a stabbing person.

 

 

I really do wonder who you are going to pick as the fifth man... I figured oh it's obviously Strangler... but after Deathwish going insane, and Stryke being your tag partner... I don't know anymore... Blarg.

[Guest Lerrin Breggan]

Wilson, just as handy with a set of explosives as ever. Good promo, and never failing to simple character evolution, it has to come with a bang and boy did you deliver!