PROMO - The Man With The Numb-Ed Arms (Part 2)

[Guest Freakish_Twist_Of_Fate]

The views and ideals expressed in this promo are not necessarily the views and ideals of the writer... Except when it coems to Cutthroat.

 

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I wasn't looking forward to this.

 

In fact, I'd been doing everything, and anything possible, and then some, to avoid interviews since I came into the league. I hate media portrayal. I hate doing my talking outside of the ring.

 

And besides all that, I've seen Ben Hardy interview before. He's just a damn tool! I sigh as the Devil himself enters the room, and he shoots me a big, goofy smile. God, I hate him! I look at the med tech... She looks at me... We both share a mutual shake of the head because both of us know that this could get bad. Ben finally pipes up.

 

"I'm so glad I finally caught up to you, Storm," he states in his grating voice. "You haven't exactly been easy to find, and I have so much to ask you!"

 

"Great," I'm thinking to myself. "He's freakin' Jimmy Olson." I look at him with a fire that Superman and his heat-vision would be envious of.

 

"Well you better damn well hurry up! I have things to take care of, and I don't have enough time to be part of your kangaroo court, so let's go already!" Ben looks around, oblivious to how serious I actually am. He makes sure his cameras in place, his mike is working, and his plaid, tweed, uglier-than-dog-shit suit is all straight. Then he finally speaks as the red light comes on atop the camera.

 

"This is Ben Hardy," he says in his nauseating whine... The one that makes yous hair stand on end. "And with me is Omega Storm, SJL superstar and participant in this week's SJL TV tourney! How are you doing?" He shoves the mike in my face, smiling big. I just look at him, and after a few moments he pulls the mike away, and turns back to the camera. I have to almost show a vague sense of semi-respect for his oblivious nature. It helps him keep his demeanour in his line of work.

 

"The question on everyone's minds," he continues, "is: 'Why such the losing streak to start your career here?'" Again the mike is back in my face. I suppose I have to answer this one.

 

"It's one reason, and one reason alone," I start out. "This league isn't good enough for me. Why should I try my hardest when I'll be fighting some idiot who thinks he's from Sherwood Forest, some guy whose whole deal is questioning God, and another one who thinks he -is- a God?!? I mean, this whole set of 'characters' is utterly ridiculous! I mean... My first match on a pay-per-view was in a -mall-??? One of the guys fought people with breadsticks? What was his name... Cutthroat? He should've done that well before that match! What the Hell is this place, a haven for the mentally retarded? I mean, I was hoping for some sort of professionalism here, but... Damn! This place is a joke!" Damn, that felt good to get off my chest. Hardy looks at me for a moment, and I realize there was one thing I forgot to touch on. "Oh, and there's you, Hardy," I say. "You're ugly, gay, and have no fashion sense." He looks at me again for a moment, then continues on. Damn, he's downright stupid.

 

"What about rumors of feuds involving Christian Blackwell, Aecas, and Sean Atlas?"

 

"Well," I muse, "Even if there were any feuds going on, they'd end quickly as I'd beat them all into the ground."

 

"But each one of them has beat you at least once," Hardy digs, "With Blackwell beating you... 3 times, I think?" I can feel the left fist clench. There -is- that... I'm looking forward to beating Blackwell's ass seven ways to Sunday the next time we meet. He's had my number, but I think I might just have him figured out now.

 

"And I think you've been beaten up countless times by anyone and everyone, so does that make you a punk-ass bitch? Oh wait, yes... It does!" Given half a chance, and two working arms, I'd murder this guy. Just to save everyone else in the league from him.

 

"But what about your tournament match against David Blazenwing?"

 

"What about it?" I shrug, noting that the right arm is sufficiently numbed that it doesn't quite move in sync with the other. Hmm. Wierd. "A n00b I'm fighting in a tournament for a belt they had to dust off and repaint its gold. Big whup. I'm just looking to drive this guy through the canvas, and get maggots like you off my back." I notice him extremely interested in my right shoulder... Oh shit, I know it's coming... I can say it mentally with him:

 

"So, how're the arms?" I sigh, then start to smile. It doesn't seem to catch in his tiny, unevolved brain what's about to happen... Maybe that's the more better.

 

"Here, Hardy," I say with a sneer. "Lemme show you..." Finally, he gets it, and starts to move... But I'm a bit quicker, and I wrap the left hand around the throat. The cameramen start to haul out of the room at a quick pace, considering their girth... They're the smart ones. I lift Hardy up as he turns blue, purple, and all sorts of dark, fun colors, and start to move for the door. The pain in my shoulder is pretty bad, but the adrenaline is keeping my expression in one mode: Pissed-off. I look into Hardy's eyes, smiling sadistically.

 

"I believe," I breathe in a whisper, "This interview is over." And with that, I help Hardy out of the room by means of a toss out the door and into the cameramen. The clatter of equipment, the grunts of hurling bodies... All stop when I shut the door, sighing to myself. The med tech looks up at me with a look of pity. Not exactly what I need right now, but I get the idea.

 

"So," she says. "Are you ready for the next one?" Suddenly, needles don't look so bad. I just survived a Ben Hardy interview, after all... Oh wait... Nevermind.

 

"Yeah." I walk back over to where I was sitting before. I feel better now, a little more calm. I feel I can focus now that I've let out some aggression, and let my feelings be known. Does that soften me? Not a chance in Hell. But does it clear me out for the task at hand? Oh yeah...

 

"David Blazenwing... You're -so- dead."