PROMO: Past, present, and the future.

[super_tigris 0]

The SWF cameras are backstage, post Smarkdown, with Michael Cross who just got off a very difficult loss in the main event. He paces around in a corridor where crew and wrestlers continue to walk by, patting him on the back as he ignores their comments about the loss, attempts to lift the young kid’s spirits ignored and thrown away by looks of anger and rage. Ben Hardy and video crew members approach Cross, who pauses and turns his head looking up, the camera rolling and catching the hooded Cross off guard and looking twice as angry as before.

 

“Michael,” Ben cuts in slowly, attempting to avoid any possible confrontation with the seemingly on edge Suicide Machine, “…Tonight, well, tonight was your shot at glory in the SWF, something not a lot of new comers are offered. While you lost, it’s no secret the amount of heart and effort you put in, nor is it a secret how close you came to victory. What’re your thoughts on the match, how do you feel about the outcome, and where do you go from here?”

 

Cross paces two steps, stops to think, paces two more, and then stops again, this time for good, his baggy jeans and baggy hoodie drapes over his battered body, hidden under clothe. He lifts up his hood and turns to face the camera, Ben sighing somewhat and backing away a bit, as Cross grabs the microphone from his hands. The cameras move to his left and to his right preceding Cross’ voice, attempting to catch a view of the rest of Asia Underground who’re seemingly missing, once again leaving Cross to do his own bidding for the second time tonight.

 

“Tonight…” his voice seems somewhat weary, more matured, but lost and still wandering to find its true place, “Tonight was the night that my demons and my past were going to disappear, the night all of my troubles were overcome by something much more, something more heartfelt.” Cross pauses as if finished with what he has to say, as Ben awkwardly pauses as well, silence taking the corridor by storm.

 

Ben waits a moment, then leans in to speak over the microphone held by Cross, who thrusts it into Hardy’s chest, looking at him as he leans back and takes hold of the mic. “What do you mean,” Hardy looks at Cross confused, “That tonight was supposed to be the end of your past? What past, we know bits and pieces, but nothing intentionally given to us; what is your past, and why does it still haunt you?”

 

Cross contemplates the question, breathes out a breath of air having caught his voice before speaking, and then composes himself with an answer. He grabs the mic once again and waits a moment. “It’s only fair that I tell you,” Cross’ face calms and his eyes squint, “You see, Ben, I never had parents, I never had the benefits of growing up with a family. I had the benefits of growing up in homes that never wanted me, haunted by the fact that even my blood parents wanted nothing to do with me.” Cross stops, and wipes a forearm across his nose, looking down and biting his lip.

 

Ben interjects himself, patting Cross’ back and then speaking without a microphone, the camera still able to pick his words up regardless. “Mike, I’m sure that’s not the truth,” a quiet moment passes, the emotion felt as anyone left still moving throughout the corridor pauses to watch with concern, “You’ve found a home now, Kobe, Akira, the SWF. Mike, you’ve come home, you’re here. A loss means nothing, you’ve matured for it, and you’re ready to take the next step.” Another moment passes and steps and shouts are heard in the distance. Some skanky looking women (possibly groupies) enter a pair of doors several feet behind the scene, Cross turning to see the women.

 

“Take the next step?” Cross seems down, his voice mixing emotions of anger and depression. “The next step? Ben, there is no next step; there is no future in THAT!” He thrusts his finger to the doors, his face cringing as a tear seeps from under his eyelid and drops to the floor with a splash. “That, that is everything I hate, everything I’ve been void of. Popularity, acceptance, winning for once, JUST ONCE! But my life has never been about winning, it’s been about surviving, lasting through the countless bull shit that’s been thrown at me by people, PEOPLE LIKE THEM!” He turns his face and grimaces.

 

Ben looks confused at what to say next, the heartfelt moment overlapped by the women who remind the depressed, young rookie of his shaky past. He pats him again and then gathers his words, “You don’t have to be that, you can change the standard, you can destroy the drugs and the women that come with success. I know how you associate your past with that, and how you’ve never won, I understand that your hate for drugs and for pointless sex all stems to the fact that that path has never been open to you…” Cross cuts him off with his forearm, pressing Hardy away as he looks up and into the camera.

 

“You think my anger stems to never having the opportunity to have THAT!” Cross’ gaze sends flames to the camera lens and melts it, his jaw shaking as he grits his teeth together. “No; Ben, that’s not it. No, to whoever the hell else believes they understand why I am what I am, why I do the things I do, and why I think the things I think. I am Straight Edge because my past tells me who I am, or, rather, who I don’t want to be.” Cross pauses and then looks down, his facial expressions calming. “My mom was nothing but a cock sucking whore, and my Dad, well, my dad – my real dad – paid to have me. He fucked my mom in the back of a car and 9 months later dropped me on the steps of a church. You think I want to pay for sex, abuse what it was meant to be? You think it’s because I’ve never had that option? Well, after all, it is every 16 year old kid’s dream to find out his father was a desperate scum bag and his mother slept with people for a living, even better to find out that I was abandoned, not put up for adoption, or not because my parents were dead.” Cross smiles, briefly, as Hardy presses himself against a wall, awe stricken, “That would’ve been a dream compared to what I found out. I hope my mom is dying in a hospital from aids, and I hope my father has his throat slit over a bad drug deal. I hope, for their sake, that I never find out their true identities.”

 

Ben steps forward, pausing to look at Cross, as if to ask if it’s okay for him to speak. Cross hands over the mic with a brief grin. “Mike, what does this have to do with the SWF, your loss, or your future in this company? Why are you relaying these spiteful words, and what does this have to do with understanding your past?” Cross chuckles under his breath, and grabs the mic, breaking the short period of silence.

 

“Ben, you want to know what this has to do with my loss, don’t you?” Cross pauses and then looks at the camera. “Well, Ben, it has everything to do with my past. Tonight, Landon beat me; he beat me by associating me with something he desperately needs and wants. He threw me aside, he threw me aside when he was done getting the pleasure he got, and then he left me, like my parents.” Cross hangs his head, looking at his feet. “And, Landon, at From the Fire – yeah, I’ll be there – I’m going to do the same thing to you, without pity. I’m going to beat you senseless, without remorse, so that I can get what I need. So that I can get that belt, so that I can forget my past, and so that I can see you suffer for what you’ve done to me. You wanted to know what this had to do with my past, my loss, and my future? I think you just found out.” Cross shoves the mic into Hardy’s chest and walks off putting his iPod headphones into his ears and walking out to the parking lot. Hardy looks at the camera absolutely enthralled by what Cross had to say, almost beckoning for more of his past and for more of what he intends to do as the cameras cut to darkness.