Post by Everyday Heroes on Apr 30, 2017 21:27:33 GMT
I
They fucking got it wrong.
They got my company wrong.
After all the corrections. All the warnings. All the Tweets. After everything I said, everything I did...
...they still fucking got it wrong.
Goes to show, doesn't it? Goes to show how much people are paying attention. No wonder I get rookies stepping to me after I dropped twenty motherfuckers on their heads and telling me I'm just a lucky punk. No wonder those same motherfuckers have people making excuses for why they left Lions' Road, so they won't have to admit it was because of me. That I drove them out of the company, I ended their run, I derailed their career. Me. Corey Cruelty. The lucky emo kid with the twenty straight wins.
Cassie tried to say it didn't matter; that I knew what I'd done, and she knew what I'd done, and fuck everybody else. Hayley, too. She said she'd still be proud of me no matter what. But they don't get it. They don't get that it's a matter of principle. That it's not about who knows; it's about making sure someone knows. It's about making sure those motherfuckers in the Lions' Road front office don't win. It's about making sure Corey Cruelty is more than a footnote in the history of modern independent wrestling.
And this Falcon Cup is the first step.
That's why I signed up for it. I didn't do it to test myself, like some of these happy-go-lucky motherfuckers. I didn't do it to have fun, like that moron Hammerstein. I did it to put my name out there. I did it to make people pay attention, so that after I win it, hopefully some company will come around with a contract, and I can tell Lions' Road to shove it. I did it for promotion. 'Cause if your workplace don't put the spotlight on you, you've got to go out there and do it for yourself.
And starting this Sunday...that's just what I'm gonna do.
I told Lions' Road a couple of months ago that Corey Cruelty was going to start looking out for number one, and not giving a fuck about anybody else.
Now it's time to prove it.
And who better to prove it with than my own company's golden boy?
Better get ready, Hammerstein.
There's a boogeyman on the prowl.
And it's coming straight for you.
II
'Are you stalking me, Hammerman?'
The words, which open the latest video uploaded to the Guerreros of Lucha website, are spoken by a sullen-looking young male, who glares at the camera from behind a pitch-black fringe as he sits on a log in the middle of some woods, toking on a suspiciously stubby-looking cigarette. He is dressed in black from head to toe, his heavy, knee-length, metal-buckled boots contrasting with the impossibly tight jeans directly above them,. The whole is topped by a t-shirt promoting a popular extreme metal band, only partially visible under a long, leather duster coat. As the camera zooms in on him, the youngster calmly takes another drag of his hand-made cigarette, before continuing:
'Seriously, are you stalking me? 'Cause it seems to me that no matter where I look right now, I see your dumbass face giving me that stupid shit-eating grin. Lions' Road. Seattle Pro. GOL Lucha. Hell, I keep expecting to turn on the TV one time and see you hosting some piece of shit show on the Food Network or something. You're fucking everywhere. You're like a plague.
Well, call me Pasteur, 'cause on Sunday...I'm gonna wipe out that plague.'
The youth gives the camera his most intense glare as he continues:
'Hammerstein...you're my past. You're that dude I faced when people calling me a lucky-ass rookie were still actually right. And I ain't gonna lie to you, buddy....you made me sweat. You put up a hell of a fight. You were a hell of a challenge.
Back then.'
The youngster smirks.
'But it's not back then anymore, Hammerstein. This is now. That shit I just mentioned? That was eight months ago. Two belts ago. Twenty wins ago. The last time I faced you, I was three matches into my career. Now I'm twenty-three. And let me tell you, you may have been a challenge to me back then, but right now?'
The speaker leans in further.
'Right now, you're not on my level, dude.
And we both know it.'
The youngster leans back again, taking another toke on his cigarette.
'Hammerstein...back then...facing you was a challenge. Beating you was a feat. But now? Now, facing you is like beating on the slow kid. You know he's not on your level, you know he's not gonna fight back, and you know he's just gonna sit there and take it, and go home crying to his mother. He's just easy picking. An easy target. A sitting duck. So what's the point? You know?
You and me are kind of like that. The first time we faced each other, I won by count-out, and people were like 'yeah, okay, the kid got lucky'. But then we fought again, and I dropped you on your head. And that was that. We knew. We knew who the best wrestler was. There was no point in us facing off anymore. Hell, even Lions' Road saw it. Even they knew better than to keep running us at each other. Even they knew it would just be beating a dead horse.
And yet, eight months later, here we are.
Beating the same old dead horse.'
The youth smirks again.
'And speaking of Lions' Road...that place you're so proud to call home...let me ask you something. How would you feel if you always behaved at home...did your chores, cleaned your room, whatever...and in the end, your parents told you to go sleep in the broom closet? How would you feel if you came top of your class, made varsity in a bunch of sports...and in the end, your parents told you to eat dog food off the floor? Would you like that, Hammerstein? Would it make you happy? Would you want to live there?
Well, now you know how I feel.'
The youngster leans forward, his glare scorching the lens.
'You wanna talk about how I'm not cool anymore? How I'm not one of the guys? Well, guess what. That's not my fucking fault. All I ever asked for was a little recognition. A little hype. A little promotion. Just like they did for a loser like you. Just like they did for a choker like AJ Knight. But I never got it. The dude with the best win-loss average in the entire company, the dude with the record-breaking title reign, the dude who stepped up to wrestling legends and drove them out of the company...
...was getting less promotion than some goofball chump who looks like he should be singing for Smash Mouth.
Can you really blame me for telling them to suck it?'
The speaker leans in further.
'And make no mistake, Hammerstein...I am telling them to suck it. I may still sleep in that house at night, but that's not my home anymore. I'm not gonna rep a place that lets these GOL guys say I belong to some company in fucking England – multiple times – and doesn't do anything about it. That tells me they're not proud to have me on their roster. And if they're not proud of me, why should I be proud of them? If Mom and Dad don't love me, what's the point in saying they're my parents?'
The youngster shakes his head.
'Nah, bro...fuck that. On Sunday, at Beyond Thundercunt, Corey Cruelty is gonna be a free agent. And I'm gonna go out there and beat Lions' Road finest...as a free agent. And then I'm gonna go on to win the whole damn Cup...as a free agent. And after that, when Lions' Road comes around and tries to take credit and say their athlete did it...I'm gonna turn around...
...and tell them I did it...
...as a free agent.'
A grin returns to the youth's features as he continues:
'Hammerstein...on Sunday, you're not gonna face off against that green-ass rookie you fought last summer. You're not even gonna face off against that dude who used to shoot the shit with you and Cucaracha on Twitter. No, Hammerstein...on Sunday, you're gonna face off against the Harvester of Sorrow. The King of Cruelty. The Master of Oblivion. On Sunday, you're going to face off against the guy who put Jack Rose on the shelf. Who sent Robb Daniels home crying. Who ended James Edwards' reign. The guy who won the Iron Tournament and made finals on the Heritage Cup. Who went 19-0 in singles competition. Who defeated every odd anyone ever put in his way. On Sunday, you're gonna face off against the Lions' Road Iron Champion, the most dominant Heritage Champion in the history of the company, and a man who would be considered one of the most exciting rookies in modern independent wrestling, if anyone even knew he existed!!!'
The youth pauses for a moment to pull himself together, his last few words having angered him beyond the point of coherence. Then, after he has managed – not without a struggle – to calm himself down, he continues:
'So Hammerstein...here's my advice to you. Don't be an idiot. Go home. If you fuck with a man on fire, you end up getting burned. And you don't want to get burnt, Hammerman. Your girl wouldn't like it. It would make you even more butt-ugly. So do the smart thing. Go 'home'. Go to your safe space. You don't have to get hurt. You don't have to face the boogeyman. You don't have to face the big bad wolf. You just go home, and watch the Cup on TV, in Mommy and Daddy's room, with a nice big glass of chocolate milk and a whole box of animal crackers all to yourself. And don't worry about coming home late - I'm sure the short bus will wait for you. They always wait for their regulars...'
The youth's tone drips with condescension as he offers the camera an insincere grin, which quickly reverts back into a scowl as the speaker adds:
'I mean that, Hammerstein. Do the smart thing. Don't show up on Sunday. Just pack your bags and go back to Lions' Road, since you like it so much there. 'Cause trust me, dude...you don't want to fuck with me right now. It's gonna end badly for you.'
The youngster leans forward once again:
'Hammer...consider that your final warning. You can still walk away. You can still escape. But you've gotta do it now. Because Hammerstein, from this point forward, you only have two choices. You can go back...
...or you can go down.
Down...
…into...
...Oblivion.'
With that, and one last glower from the brash youngster, the video ends.