Post by Dick Devereaux on Feb 25, 2017 21:39:29 GMT -5
[The scene abruptly opens to a darkened room filled with deafening silence. Nothing else except for pure blackened silence. A light suddenly breaks the darkness when a single spotlight lights up in the middle of the room. The camera pans to the light as we see a glass box resting on top of a elegant podium. Inside the box we can see a crown. The silence suddenly dissipates when we hear the sound of Dick Devereaux.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: What's a King without a Crown? The answer is simple. He is not a King.
[We can see Dick Devereaux walk into the spotlight as he eyes the captive crown. The light causes the crown to shine as if it is made of pure gold. Dick eyes it as he continues speaking in a softened tone.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: Every time I stepped into the Battleground there was only one purpose in mind. Walk out the winner. And every single time I did just that. I cemented my destiny in Union Battleground by defeating three other competitors to make it to the finals. And as I look across the Battleground, there is only one man I see standing in my way to achieve my destiny. And that man is my opponent this week... Tweeder. Some call it a match made in heaven. I call it a war created in hell.
[Dick continues to pace around the crown, barely staying in the spotlight the entire time. His eyes glisten as he stares at the prize inside the glass box.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: You see, Tweeder and I have many similarities. We're built about the same, height and weight wise. And we're both known for our unstoppable violence. You've talked about your Tower of Dooms and your Pools of Blood. I counter it with the Deathmatch Demolition. You might've climbed fought on some stacked cages, but I walked into Deathmatch Demolition and lived to tell the tale. Let me paint you a picture. An empty stadium field with landmines planted around everywhere. Those landmines explode every ten minutes. Only way to win is to throw every single competitor over a five foot tall fence around the field. Not only did I survive, but I killed a man by running him over in my truck. I might not have won, but I made my impact. The things that happened in that match are things of nightmares! And to think that you're tougher than me because you fought on some tall structure is a mockery of my existence. I don't care how high you were and how many weapons you've used. Have you went so far as to kill a man to walk away a winner? I don't think so.
[Dick stops pacing as he turns to the camera and leans against the glass. His face shows anger at the thought of Tweeder. He continues this time in a more aggressive tone.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: February twenty sixth, the Forum in Inglewood, California. What will happen when an Immovable Object meets an Immovable Object? At the Battle of Los Angeles the answer to the question will be answered! There was many competitors who could have been where we are standing now Tweeder, but at the end of the day it is the two of us who were always the favorites. No amount of hoping and wishing got us here, our thirst for violence and need for that Union Battleground Championship got us to where we are now. Only one can walk out of California on top! And I really hope Graves was smart enough to order an ambulance because I guarantee it's gonna' get used! There will be blood! There will be carnage! There will be enough violence to make the ECW faithful cringe! And at the end of the night when the smoke clears on the Battleground... there will be one man standing on his feet holding on to the Union Battleground Championship. It won't be the Beer Chugging, Weed Whacker Hugging, Ultraviolent Icon Tweeder.
[Dick disappears for a moment into the darkness. Suddenly a thick chain covered baseball bat swings into frame and shattered the glass box! Dick steps into the spotlight and grabs the crown from the broken glass before placing it on top of his bald skull. He eyes the camera as he adjusts the crown.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: It'll be the Butcher of the MOTHERFUCKIN' Battleground.... DICK DEVEREAUX!
[Dick slams his hands into the glass shards before lifting it and dusting off the glass. He then places his hand over his face before pulling it off revealing his signature red warpaint hand print. He looks into the camera with a snarl on his face before covering with his bloody hand, sending the feed into a flash of crimson before it cuts away to static.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: What's a King without a Crown? The answer is simple. He is not a King.
[We can see Dick Devereaux walk into the spotlight as he eyes the captive crown. The light causes the crown to shine as if it is made of pure gold. Dick eyes it as he continues speaking in a softened tone.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: Every time I stepped into the Battleground there was only one purpose in mind. Walk out the winner. And every single time I did just that. I cemented my destiny in Union Battleground by defeating three other competitors to make it to the finals. And as I look across the Battleground, there is only one man I see standing in my way to achieve my destiny. And that man is my opponent this week... Tweeder. Some call it a match made in heaven. I call it a war created in hell.
[Dick continues to pace around the crown, barely staying in the spotlight the entire time. His eyes glisten as he stares at the prize inside the glass box.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: You see, Tweeder and I have many similarities. We're built about the same, height and weight wise. And we're both known for our unstoppable violence. You've talked about your Tower of Dooms and your Pools of Blood. I counter it with the Deathmatch Demolition. You might've climbed fought on some stacked cages, but I walked into Deathmatch Demolition and lived to tell the tale. Let me paint you a picture. An empty stadium field with landmines planted around everywhere. Those landmines explode every ten minutes. Only way to win is to throw every single competitor over a five foot tall fence around the field. Not only did I survive, but I killed a man by running him over in my truck. I might not have won, but I made my impact. The things that happened in that match are things of nightmares! And to think that you're tougher than me because you fought on some tall structure is a mockery of my existence. I don't care how high you were and how many weapons you've used. Have you went so far as to kill a man to walk away a winner? I don't think so.
[Dick stops pacing as he turns to the camera and leans against the glass. His face shows anger at the thought of Tweeder. He continues this time in a more aggressive tone.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: February twenty sixth, the Forum in Inglewood, California. What will happen when an Immovable Object meets an Immovable Object? At the Battle of Los Angeles the answer to the question will be answered! There was many competitors who could have been where we are standing now Tweeder, but at the end of the day it is the two of us who were always the favorites. No amount of hoping and wishing got us here, our thirst for violence and need for that Union Battleground Championship got us to where we are now. Only one can walk out of California on top! And I really hope Graves was smart enough to order an ambulance because I guarantee it's gonna' get used! There will be blood! There will be carnage! There will be enough violence to make the ECW faithful cringe! And at the end of the night when the smoke clears on the Battleground... there will be one man standing on his feet holding on to the Union Battleground Championship. It won't be the Beer Chugging, Weed Whacker Hugging, Ultraviolent Icon Tweeder.
[Dick disappears for a moment into the darkness. Suddenly a thick chain covered baseball bat swings into frame and shattered the glass box! Dick steps into the spotlight and grabs the crown from the broken glass before placing it on top of his bald skull. He eyes the camera as he adjusts the crown.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: It'll be the Butcher of the MOTHERFUCKIN' Battleground.... DICK DEVEREAUX!
[Dick slams his hands into the glass shards before lifting it and dusting off the glass. He then places his hand over his face before pulling it off revealing his signature red warpaint hand print. He looks into the camera with a snarl on his face before covering with his bloody hand, sending the feed into a flash of crimson before it cuts away to static.]
