Post by Jaice Wilds on Jan 19, 2020 21:19:05 GMT -5
Banged up and worn out… and still looking for more punishment.
The scene opens up on Jaice Wilds, sporting bruises and scars from the Hardcore Title Open. He works a punching bag in a run-down gym; the training facility within the Order Compound. Wilds grins at the figure in the doorway, a slight nod.
Jaice Wilds:
Classic Jaice, no?
A low chuckle, Aaron Simon Kalis struts into the room. Decked head-to-toe in Armani, Kalis walks up to Wilds with a confident swagger.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
That's fair, too. I'm just surprised you didn't walk out of there with the title.
Wilds shoots a haymaker, a few uppercuts, a back elbow; stopping to catch his breath. He scoffs, shrugging.
Jaice Wilds:
I'm not. Alpha has some great talent, and ZMac is practically a goddamn legend. And then Odin got involved? It was all in the air at that point.
Kalis places a hand on Wilds' shoulder, a long sigh.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
You really have to stop doing that. Not allowing yourself to have any kind of ego is going to get you slaughtered.
Jaice laughs, shaking his head. He walks towards a nearby bench, grabbing his bottled water off it and taking a big gulp. He looks back, an eyebrow raised.
Jaice Wilds:
The last time I let myself have an ego, I got slapped around by a World Champion. In his second match of that night. I'm not you, Si; if I don't keep my shit in check, I'll defeat myself.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
Keep doing what you do in that ring, you'll kill yourself.
Wilds nods, pouring a bit of water over his head. He places the cap back on the bottle, setting it back on the bench.
Jaice Wilds:
Can't help it, man. I live for that adrenaline rush. I thrive on the chaos. It's who I am. If it kills me… well, at least I die doing what I love.
Kalis nods, understanding. He pulls out his phone, bringing up his Twitter app. More precisely, Wilds' page on the app.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
What about her?
Wilds looks over, scanning the page before he shrugs. He drops to the floor, starting on single-hand push-ups.
Jaice Wilds:
What about her? She ran when shit got rough, and now she's pulling the same shit the last one did- making personal beef out of a simple business transaction.
Simon shakes his head in bewilderment, throwing his arms up.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
And what are you doing about it?
Wilds doesn't respond at first, finishing his reps. He stands, rolling his eyes as he shakes his head.
Jaice Wilds:
What am I supposed to do? I'm going to face her at Rev 3, kick her ass, and move on to the next. No biggie.
Aaron sets his phone into rest mode, sliding it back into his inner breast pocket. He shakes his head, stroking his forehead.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
You're way too relaxed about all this, man. C'mon.
Wilds shrugs, heading back to the bag. He nods, focused on his training.
Jaice Wilds:
Look, she built the Guardians. And they were there for me at the height of my career. But I've beaten her once before. And my career was legend long before the Guardians; so she won't phase me. The same old Bonnie is getting the ever-improving Jaice, and she's not going to realize what hit her. Plain and simple.
Kalis chuckles, shaking his head. He walks over, putting his hand on Wilds' shoulder. The younger man turns, Kalis nods towards the door.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
Tamika made dinner. Let's go eat, and I'll fill you in on what the next leg of the Order looks like.
Wilds nods; the two men heading for the door. They can smell the duck l'orange from the other room, grinning in anticipation.
-----------------------------------------
The following is a letter addressed to Steven Osbourne; intercepted and published to the Alpha Pro Wrestling website.
Show up. Show out. Keep rolling.
This is how I go about, defining my career. Not by wins and losses; nor by how many shiny souvenirs I pick up along the way. It all boils down to whether or not I can keep standing, keep getting into that ring, and keep believing in my ability to fight on. A legacy built on the fact that I absolutely refuse to become another has-been.
And then, there's my opponent this week. A man I defeated back in October, and actually did so with a title on the line. Admittedly, that doesn't really mean a shit ton in the long run. But let's put this into perspective.
Last week, during the Hardcore Title Invitational, Steve Osbourne staked his claim to the North American Title. Keep in mind, this meant putting a target on his own back in hopes that ZMac would pick up on it. But I gotta ask ya, Stevie... what exactly did you accomplish??
I mean, you came out to the ring. Attacked Zombie from behind. Talked a lot of barely coherent bullshit. And then… ran away like a little bitch. Seriously; you started off making a valid point, and then you run away.
Ozzy, I give you credit for vision. But your execution was, shall we say… sloppy… at best. You had every opportunity to come through, put a hurting on the man with "your" title, and make sure he didn't have any choice but to come back for you. You had the chance, Steve! And what do you do with it??
If it were me, I would have found the most absolute underhanded way to simply manipulate McMorris away from the final fall. Whether it would have been me walking away with the title, or simply ensuring that he didn't, the smartest thing would have been to divert Ol' Z from being involved in the fall. Force him to seek retribution against me. But you… you cut a promo and ran. You came in buzzing like a bee, but posed no more ignorant a distraction than a fly. Ego check, Steve: ZMac is now a double champion in Alpha Pro, and you… have zero cards to play.
You didn't do jack shit to stop ZMac from gaining the Hardcore Title.
You didn't stick around to take the belt as leverage to garner his attention.
You're a former North American Champion, sure… but so is Spartan, and he actually stuck around to fight.
Look, man. I'm not trying to take away from what you've accomplished in APW. You're a former North American and Junior Heavyweight Champion. Your record, despite a few hiccups, is still pretty damn impressive. And you've managed at least one main event slot. Those are incredible accolades, and I won't deny you those.
But you're an egomaniac, Steven. You see this image of yourself garnered in the highest of grandeur. You see yourself at the top of the food chain, looking down upon all the unworthy peons beneath your feet. You have this amazing map of how things are going to go for you.
But you lack follow through. Take it from a ten-plus year veteran; talk isn't going to get you very far. What you need to do right now, Osbourne; what your next move needs to be if you want that date with the Coked-Up Madman, is to make a big move. I'm simply focused on defeating you and pushing my record a little closer to respectable. And to do that, I'm going to throw everything I have at you. I will draw blood, yours and my own, to ensure success. I will put my body on the line to wipe you out. And that isn't some empty promise, son; that is how I step into every. single. match. that I am involved in.
Meanwhile, you possess all the talent in the world. You could very well be next in line for the title opportunity you so desperately want. But you stumble over the proverbial steps you need to take just to get that far; and you fall short. In this business, Steve-O, you have to be willing to pace yourself and push harder to take what you want. If you keep looking past the necessary steps- provoking the Champion, establishing your dominance… defeating other opponents in your way… you're going to find yourself on the mat again. You're going to end up wondering what happened, again. You're going to get kicked so hard in the face that you don't know what year it is- again.
Do us both a favor this week, Steven. Do not look past me. Do not underestimate what I can and will do to you in that ring again. Give me every ounce of fury, every drop of rage you have inside of yourself and earn a spot amongst the top brass of this company. Or… you can focus on ZMac. Deny my immediate presence across the ring from you. Place all your attention on the North American Championship. And fall on your face, victimized via the Ordo Ab Kao, losing any momentum you might have had to claim the strap in the near future.
Don't be a one-trick pony, boy. Be something worth the time and energy. Be something worth the effort. Be something I can really have fun tearing down, or else you will be nothing more than the laughing stock of Alpha Pro Wrestling.
Bring me the pain, Osbourne... or lose everything else.
-----------------------------------------
Wilds starts coming to, looking around. He watches as ZMAC takes both of his titles, starting up the entrance ramp. The other combatants are slowly rounded up by EMTs or aided to their feet, heading for the back. Wilds sits up, breathing deeply. The crowd continues to roar in appreciation for the show and all its performers, Wilds' eyes darting over to see the Russian Bear being tranquilized and hauled into a cage. Jaice nods, dropping his head as he continues to breathe deeply.
Suddenly, he notices a shadow looming over him. He looks up, a solemn ginger warrior extending his hand out to the Final General. Wilds grins a bit, accepting Spartan's hand as the big man pulls Jaice to his feet. They eye each other for a brief moment, sharing a nod of respect before Spartan climbs out of the ring and signs some autographs for the fans. Jaice looks about the arena, rolling out of the ring and jumping into the crowd to celebrate the night while it lasts.
The scene opens up on Jaice Wilds, sporting bruises and scars from the Hardcore Title Open. He works a punching bag in a run-down gym; the training facility within the Order Compound. Wilds grins at the figure in the doorway, a slight nod.
Jaice Wilds:
Classic Jaice, no?
A low chuckle, Aaron Simon Kalis struts into the room. Decked head-to-toe in Armani, Kalis walks up to Wilds with a confident swagger.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
That's fair, too. I'm just surprised you didn't walk out of there with the title.
Wilds shoots a haymaker, a few uppercuts, a back elbow; stopping to catch his breath. He scoffs, shrugging.
Jaice Wilds:
I'm not. Alpha has some great talent, and ZMac is practically a goddamn legend. And then Odin got involved? It was all in the air at that point.
Kalis places a hand on Wilds' shoulder, a long sigh.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
You really have to stop doing that. Not allowing yourself to have any kind of ego is going to get you slaughtered.
Jaice laughs, shaking his head. He walks towards a nearby bench, grabbing his bottled water off it and taking a big gulp. He looks back, an eyebrow raised.
Jaice Wilds:
The last time I let myself have an ego, I got slapped around by a World Champion. In his second match of that night. I'm not you, Si; if I don't keep my shit in check, I'll defeat myself.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
Keep doing what you do in that ring, you'll kill yourself.
Wilds nods, pouring a bit of water over his head. He places the cap back on the bottle, setting it back on the bench.
Jaice Wilds:
Can't help it, man. I live for that adrenaline rush. I thrive on the chaos. It's who I am. If it kills me… well, at least I die doing what I love.
Kalis nods, understanding. He pulls out his phone, bringing up his Twitter app. More precisely, Wilds' page on the app.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
What about her?
Wilds looks over, scanning the page before he shrugs. He drops to the floor, starting on single-hand push-ups.
Jaice Wilds:
What about her? She ran when shit got rough, and now she's pulling the same shit the last one did- making personal beef out of a simple business transaction.
Simon shakes his head in bewilderment, throwing his arms up.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
And what are you doing about it?
Wilds doesn't respond at first, finishing his reps. He stands, rolling his eyes as he shakes his head.
Jaice Wilds:
What am I supposed to do? I'm going to face her at Rev 3, kick her ass, and move on to the next. No biggie.
Aaron sets his phone into rest mode, sliding it back into his inner breast pocket. He shakes his head, stroking his forehead.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
You're way too relaxed about all this, man. C'mon.
Wilds shrugs, heading back to the bag. He nods, focused on his training.
Jaice Wilds:
Look, she built the Guardians. And they were there for me at the height of my career. But I've beaten her once before. And my career was legend long before the Guardians; so she won't phase me. The same old Bonnie is getting the ever-improving Jaice, and she's not going to realize what hit her. Plain and simple.
Kalis chuckles, shaking his head. He walks over, putting his hand on Wilds' shoulder. The younger man turns, Kalis nods towards the door.
Aaron Simon Kalis:
Tamika made dinner. Let's go eat, and I'll fill you in on what the next leg of the Order looks like.
Wilds nods; the two men heading for the door. They can smell the duck l'orange from the other room, grinning in anticipation.
-----------------------------------------
The following is a letter addressed to Steven Osbourne; intercepted and published to the Alpha Pro Wrestling website.
Show up. Show out. Keep rolling.
This is how I go about, defining my career. Not by wins and losses; nor by how many shiny souvenirs I pick up along the way. It all boils down to whether or not I can keep standing, keep getting into that ring, and keep believing in my ability to fight on. A legacy built on the fact that I absolutely refuse to become another has-been.
And then, there's my opponent this week. A man I defeated back in October, and actually did so with a title on the line. Admittedly, that doesn't really mean a shit ton in the long run. But let's put this into perspective.
Last week, during the Hardcore Title Invitational, Steve Osbourne staked his claim to the North American Title. Keep in mind, this meant putting a target on his own back in hopes that ZMac would pick up on it. But I gotta ask ya, Stevie... what exactly did you accomplish??
I mean, you came out to the ring. Attacked Zombie from behind. Talked a lot of barely coherent bullshit. And then… ran away like a little bitch. Seriously; you started off making a valid point, and then you run away.
Ozzy, I give you credit for vision. But your execution was, shall we say… sloppy… at best. You had every opportunity to come through, put a hurting on the man with "your" title, and make sure he didn't have any choice but to come back for you. You had the chance, Steve! And what do you do with it??
If it were me, I would have found the most absolute underhanded way to simply manipulate McMorris away from the final fall. Whether it would have been me walking away with the title, or simply ensuring that he didn't, the smartest thing would have been to divert Ol' Z from being involved in the fall. Force him to seek retribution against me. But you… you cut a promo and ran. You came in buzzing like a bee, but posed no more ignorant a distraction than a fly. Ego check, Steve: ZMac is now a double champion in Alpha Pro, and you… have zero cards to play.
You didn't do jack shit to stop ZMac from gaining the Hardcore Title.
You didn't stick around to take the belt as leverage to garner his attention.
You're a former North American Champion, sure… but so is Spartan, and he actually stuck around to fight.
Look, man. I'm not trying to take away from what you've accomplished in APW. You're a former North American and Junior Heavyweight Champion. Your record, despite a few hiccups, is still pretty damn impressive. And you've managed at least one main event slot. Those are incredible accolades, and I won't deny you those.
But you're an egomaniac, Steven. You see this image of yourself garnered in the highest of grandeur. You see yourself at the top of the food chain, looking down upon all the unworthy peons beneath your feet. You have this amazing map of how things are going to go for you.
But you lack follow through. Take it from a ten-plus year veteran; talk isn't going to get you very far. What you need to do right now, Osbourne; what your next move needs to be if you want that date with the Coked-Up Madman, is to make a big move. I'm simply focused on defeating you and pushing my record a little closer to respectable. And to do that, I'm going to throw everything I have at you. I will draw blood, yours and my own, to ensure success. I will put my body on the line to wipe you out. And that isn't some empty promise, son; that is how I step into every. single. match. that I am involved in.
Meanwhile, you possess all the talent in the world. You could very well be next in line for the title opportunity you so desperately want. But you stumble over the proverbial steps you need to take just to get that far; and you fall short. In this business, Steve-O, you have to be willing to pace yourself and push harder to take what you want. If you keep looking past the necessary steps- provoking the Champion, establishing your dominance… defeating other opponents in your way… you're going to find yourself on the mat again. You're going to end up wondering what happened, again. You're going to get kicked so hard in the face that you don't know what year it is- again.
Do us both a favor this week, Steven. Do not look past me. Do not underestimate what I can and will do to you in that ring again. Give me every ounce of fury, every drop of rage you have inside of yourself and earn a spot amongst the top brass of this company. Or… you can focus on ZMac. Deny my immediate presence across the ring from you. Place all your attention on the North American Championship. And fall on your face, victimized via the Ordo Ab Kao, losing any momentum you might have had to claim the strap in the near future.
Don't be a one-trick pony, boy. Be something worth the time and energy. Be something worth the effort. Be something I can really have fun tearing down, or else you will be nothing more than the laughing stock of Alpha Pro Wrestling.
Bring me the pain, Osbourne... or lose everything else.
-----------------------------------------
Wilds starts coming to, looking around. He watches as ZMAC takes both of his titles, starting up the entrance ramp. The other combatants are slowly rounded up by EMTs or aided to their feet, heading for the back. Wilds sits up, breathing deeply. The crowd continues to roar in appreciation for the show and all its performers, Wilds' eyes darting over to see the Russian Bear being tranquilized and hauled into a cage. Jaice nods, dropping his head as he continues to breathe deeply.
Suddenly, he notices a shadow looming over him. He looks up, a solemn ginger warrior extending his hand out to the Final General. Wilds grins a bit, accepting Spartan's hand as the big man pulls Jaice to his feet. They eye each other for a brief moment, sharing a nod of respect before Spartan climbs out of the ring and signs some autographs for the fans. Jaice looks about the arena, rolling out of the ring and jumping into the crowd to celebrate the night while it lasts.
