Wildcards Promo for HeldDOWN~!

[Zack Malibu 0]

COLE

Ladies and gentlemen, it's been the talk of the wrestling world for the past seven days...and it all went down on OAOAST television, on Thursday Night HeldDOWN~! one week ago. For some time now, emotions have run high in this company. The Civil War, the choosing sides, the tension amidst so many of our stars...that's all typical for our company, and for this industry. So are sneak attacks, chairshots, table breaks, and other methods of mayhem. But...but last week...last week the line was crossed, right here, right before my very eyes, and now...now we've got to give PROMO TIME to these guys?

 

CABOOSE

Don't you want an explanation, Cole?

 

COLE

You know what...I don't CARE what they have to say...I don't care about why they were brought here, or what it turned into. What I care about is that Zack Malibu, the face...the MAN that decided to adopt this company as his own, as his CAUSE, is...gone. Laid up somewhere, we don't know where, with God only knows how many injuries. Beaten to a bloody pulp...by those murderous, bloodthirsty...you know what...just bring them out...cue their music if you hear me in the truck...I've got nothing left to say that won't get us thrown off the air.

 

COACH

Mikey Cole's got a hair across his ass this wee...

 

COLE

COACHMAN, SHUT UP. Because if that was one of your "boys" then you'd be doing the same damn thing, just more annoyingly. Zack Malibu was trapped in that cage, already worn and bruised, and they took full advantage of it, and not one person in that damn arena helped him, and for WHAT!? To prove a point? Is that why, Caboose?

 

CABOOSE

Listen, Michael, I...

 

COLE

IS THAT WHY?

 

CABOOSE

Michael, don't do this, this isn't the time.

 

COLE

But it's the time to bring them out here, right? That's ok, right? Fine. Bring them out. Bring all three of the sick bastards out.

 

The cameras pull away from Sofa Central, as Coachman and Caboose feel it's best to let Michael Cole vent his frustration with the actions of Blank, Cortez and Bloodshed. Just moments later, Cortez's theme song of "Oh No" is cued up, and The Wildcards, who gradually became enemies of the fanbase, are met with THUNDEROUS boos this time...and love every second of it. The sick smiles on the face of all three men only further the crowds hatred of them, and they gleefully soak in the boos as they hit the ring, with Cortez playing to the hard camera while Blank snickers on the apron, and Bloodshed peers through his evil eyes out towards the fans while standing on the middle rope.

 

CABOOSE

I'm surprised they didn't ask for a security escort with how many people want to hurt them.

 

Blank, Cortez, and Bloodshed all filter towards the center of the ring. Blank motions for Buffer to bring the microphone into the ring for them, but Buffer won't budge. Blank turns to Bloodshed as if to ask "is he for real?" before walking to the ropes, and calling for the mic again. Buffer looks around, as the fans start a chant of "Don't Do It!" for the famed ring announcer...however the games stop when Cortez hops out of the ring and swipes the microphone from the timekeeper's table...and then SPITS IN THE FACE OF MICHAEL BUFFER!

 

COLE

Now COME ON!

 

The crowd jumps on the incident, jeering loudly, as the dapper announcer wipes saliva from his cheek. Cortez rolls into the ring, and with the crowd still on his case, begins to address the fans.

 

CORTEZ

People, this is a sad day in the OAOAST.

 

COACH

Yeah, cuz you're out here!

 

CABOOSE

Burn.

 

CORTEZ

It's a sad day not for us, oh no, but for each and every one of you that paid your money to buy the ticket that got you into the arena tonight. It is a sad day for the viewers at home, all around the world. It is a sad day for every man, woman and child that supports this company. For every wrestler, valet, commentator, go-fer, and cameraman involved in this federation. Each and every one of you is in mourning, in agony, because you are now trapped in a place you do not wish to be...you are now trapped in a world without heroes!

 

The crowd continues booing, going nonstop with their hatred, but Cortez carries on.

 

CORTEZ

Last week, the boiling point was reached. Do we look like three men that adhere to any type of authority? Zack Malibu did his part in getting us into the OAOAST, and we repaid him for it, but then he just kept coming back for more when he didn't like what he saw. He tried to put all the blame on US, make US into the bad guys, and you all bought into it! You all see us for brutal, bloodthirsty savages, and you know what? YOU'RE RIGHT! Because that's what gets us off...violence. It's a violent world. Everywhere you turn, crime is rampant. Everytime you put on the evening news, it's murder this, mugging that. I was RAISED on a diet of violence since birth...since BIRTH I had to learn how to kill, or be killed, and last week, we did just that. We killed. Not only did we kill off Zack Malibu, kill his career, but we killed the last bastion of hope that ANY of you had. We killed off the prodigal son, the one who carried the torch of this company...WE DID WHAT NO ONE ELSE SUCCEEDED IN DOING. Not Drek Stone, not Hoff, not Peter Knight, not Axel, not The Hooligans...all of you tried, and all of you failed. We did something you've all craved, you've all wanted for so so long...and yet you still jade us? What should have led us to be welcomed, FINALLY, with open arms has now blackballed us from the very company...THIS company...that we work for, and face it boys, it's all good and it's all legal, and we are your peers.

 

Cortez pauses for a moment to catch a breath, but in the midst of it, Blank motions for the mic, while Bloodshed, arms crossed, looks on.

 

BLANK

Toddy, I'll take 'er from here right now. Ya see, Zack Malibu...he's a strange case. He acts all innocent when he knew full well what we were capable of, and if it's one thing me and the boys here aren't too keen on, it's phonies. Fakes. Frauds. That's what Zack Malibu is. Friend to your face, foe to your back. Nothin' but a leech, a parasite, clinging to whatever can make him and himself alone look good to try and appease you poor pathetic people who for years have bought into his crap. Well let me tell you all, everyone listenin' and watchin' right now...you can hate us for it, or you can thank us for it, but the bottom line, and you can bet yer last dollar on this one, is that Zack Malibu is GONE. DEAD AND DONE. Last week, as he lay at my feet, busted and bloodied, you may as well have piled the soil on him and set him off on a dirtnap, because there's no comin' back from that. To some, it was a message, to us, he's just a statistic...just another victim, another broken body layin' in our wake. In fact...there ain't no need to acknowledge him no more.

 

Cortez nods, while Bloodshed grins a sinister, Cheshire cat like smile. Blank fixes the brim of his hat, and continues.

 

BLANK

What I do wanna talk about now is somethin' that's been irkin' me since last weekends Pay Per View. Now in case you live under a rock, you know that Bloodshed and myself also compete elsewhere, a little place called the SWF.

 

A mixed reaction comes up, as some fans cheer and some boo the mention of the competition.

 

BLANK

A few weeks ago, Zack Malibu gave a free pass, a blessing, to his enemies...a way to make amends with the very people he brought us in to eliminate. He told those damn Hooligans that they could come at us anywhere, anytime, and what do they do? They get the idea, the NERVE, to show up on our home turf? They decide to show up in No Man's Land and cause a ruckus at our expense, and make us look like fools on a live pay per view when we had a major match at hand? Boys, I don't know when your balls dropped, but your mission was accomplished...you got our attention again, and this time...it's about more than just the World Six Man Titles. It's about more than revenge, retribution, or gaining your precious "street cred" at our expense. It's about punishment this time, boys. Ultimate Punishment. See, after what you pulled, we were quick to sign on the dotted line for The Great Angle Bash. We're gonna take you into our enviroment, turn this little squared circle here into our playground once again. The three of us, the three of you. No disqualifications, countouts, or any o' that. A match completely free of rules. Not one fall to a finish, but elimination style, and lastly...as if there wasn't enough violence planned...we're gonna give you a little extra somethin' that might help you last for more than five minutes...each of us, all six of us that is, are gonna have some incentive wrapped around our wrists...namely four foot long leather straps that we can use to whip, choke, hang and hurt each other until our backs are lobster red and welted...wooooo-whee, I'm gettin' goose bumps just thinkin' about it!

 

Blank laughs a bit, and nods to Bloodshed and Cortez about what a great idea he thinks the Ultimate Punishment match is...and then quickly turns to the entranceway, as the sounds of "Make Her Say" jolts him, and gains his attention.

 

COACH

Ooooooooh boy.

 

CABOOSE

Here comes the calvalry!

 

Getting their fair share of cheers this time around, Scotty Static, Johnny Jax, and Jamie O'Hara walk down the ramp with a purpose, hitting the ring. Once there, they go nose to nose with The Wildcards, and Static swipes the mic from Blank.

 

STATIC

Bruce, I don't care what kind of name you give it, or what stipulations you put on the contract...you want us? You got us. The Great Angle Bash is ON.

 

The crowd roars, and The Wildcards seem pleased that these "pushovers" are welcoming the chance to be their next victims.

 

STATIC

But...Bruce, aren't you forgetting something? See, it might be a taboo subject around here, but we're not one for the rulebook either. Seems to me you're forgetting that you and the Smilin' Mime over there don't have to wait that long. Don't you guys forget that because of what happened Sunday, when we showed up on the SWF PPV and called you out, it hit you guys right "there", didn't it? Took the heart and soul right out of you that me and Jax, ya know, two of the punk bastards that you think are nothin' more than your tackling dummies, came at you on your home turf and punked you out in front of allllll those SWFers that you thought you had a hold on. See, you guys can't rely on your little intimidation factor with us, because quite frankly, none of us give a DAMN about who you are, what you've done, or what you think you're gonna do. Jamie O'Hara right here, this little man took beatings...took STAPLES from you sick sons of bitches, and look at him...he's STILL STANDING AND READY TO GO. My face...my face got busted up, my nose was pushed halfway across my cheekbone by Bloodshed, and yet here I am, all up in your grill. You think what you did to Zack Malibu worries us?

 

Blank leans over, and speaks softly into the microphone.

 

BLANK

I don't think it worries you, boy. I think it scares you.

 

Static shrugs his shoulders, playing off the fact that Blank just may be right...then cuts loose with a hard slap that brings a rise out of the crowd!

 

STATIC

SCARED? How's that for scared, you backwoods shit-hick? Let me tell you something right here and now...if we were scared, would we dare show up at the SWF? If we were scared, would we come back tomorrow night to your home turf to kick your ass and embarrass you? I don't care what your rep is, I don't care what "cred" you have...so you got to Malibu. Left him laying inside that cage last week covered, caked in his own blood, bleeding from head to toe. The thing is, Malibu was always about pleasing people...he always worried about what people thought, and that's why he wound up in the mess he got into when you came along. With us, it's a whole different story, because we don't give a DAMN what you think, what the OAOAST thinks, what the SWF thinks. Excessive violence? Unwarranted brutality? The way we see it, you paved the way for it, and now it's time for payback. An eye for an eye. You came here to make a name for yourselves, and you will. We'll make sure your names are in full view of the public eye...because they're gonna be etched onto your tombstones!

 

Blank's face drops as Static tosses the mic down. The Hooligans back up, keeping an eye on The Wildcards, who appear very frustrated with the ballsy tatics of the OAOAST's cocky gangbangers. A staredown ensues as The Hooligans back up the aisle, exchanging words inaudible to the viewing audience, as we fade to commercial.