Kayfabe Preview Show Last Rites: Imperial Championship

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  1. [​IMG]

    RWK Imperial Championship Match
    Nick(C) @Nickelodeon vs Tyler Keenan @Zap Kenobi


    Only the competitors can post here.
    You can promo outside the ring if you like. In-Ring promos are also available to you.
    Promos must be done by the 11:59 pm on September 2nd British Time.
    Please don't post any OOC posts in here. Use the General Discussion thread for those posts.
    There is a 2 promo limit.
  2. The Imitation Game.

    August 19th, 2017
    Manhattan, New York, United States

    This is the beautiful City of New York, United States of America. It is the most populated city in the entirety of the United States, with an estimated population of over eight million people. That’s eight million people who wake up in the morning, shower, eat breakfast, go to work, come home, do whatever they do before they sleep to begin the cycle once again. It might be a big city when you look at it, a city with a deep and rich history, but it’s a normal city that’s full of normal people.

    Walking down the Theatre District in Manhattan, Tyler Keenan looks to be keeping to himself. Dressed in normal, suburban clothes that don’t stand out in a crowd, a simple get-up of a t-shirt, jeans and sneakers shows that there is absolutely nothing to point him out as a person of interest. He is, today, simply a normal man taking a walk among the normal people of the city that he lives in. He looks like every single one of them, he acts like every single one of them. He doesn’t care about being noticed, not in this environment. A few heads turn and smile as he walks past them, but he doesn’t mind. He knows they won’t approach him, won’t barrage him with questions and shove pieces of paper into his face. Not in this city. Not in his home.

    There’s no lie being told that since 2015 I’ve called Manhattan island my home away from home, ever since I moved here from Santa Monica. I may still be billed from my hometown, but I truly do exist in Manhattan. I own three houses across the globe, one in California, one in New York and one in Manchester but I’ve spent so much time in this city, made so many memories that continue to exist within my mind. Memories that will never go away, memories that will stay with me for the rest of my life. But that’s good…I want them to. They give me a reminder, a reminder that I am truly happy when I am at home within the endless skyscrapers.

    Turning right at the crossing to head down a side street, Keenan rubs his hands against his jeans and breathes out heavily. It’s the end of August, the weather is humid, the air is thick and makes even the most righteous man sweat bullets. But that’s life, one of the main things that cannot be deterred. Separated from the rest of the rush hour human traffic, Keenan doesn’t look any different. He’s still one of them, even if he is from another state or spends his time traveling to different places to try and find work to build his career.

    In a city of eight million people, I don’t feel special. I don’t feel the eyes of seven million, nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine burning into my skull when I walk past them because they know who I am. They just don’t recognize it. I am the global brand, the one who’s name is on their branded shoes, the one’s wiggled the pen over their 8x10s photos, the one who stands before the camera and presents himself before the world. But in Manhattan, I fly under the radar. I am not pestered by people who want to leech off my fame. I am left alone. I am respected.

    Reaching one particular building on the street, Keenan pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and walks into the building, pressing the button that calls the elevator as soon as he is able to. He doesn’t look around to see if anyone has seen him, he doesn’t feel like he’s going to be accosted by journalists or reporters looking for their next big headlining story. He feels comfortable, like a man should in his home city.

    It might surprise people that I’m saying this kind of stuff, because they probably believe the public opinion of those that dislike me for my actions. They believe that Tyler Keenan wants the attention of everyone wherever he seems to go. That Tyler Keenan likes to be paraded in front of large audiences and large crowds for his own amusement and entertainment, but it’s not true. I do what I do because pure and simple, I am further my agendas. There is only one way to succeed in the business that I have called my own since 2013, and that is to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. And believe me, I keep them close enough you’d think they were on a leash.

    Entering the elevator as soon as the doors open for him, Keenan pulls out his phone from his pocket and presses the app logo for Twitter. Scrolling through the various tweets he has on his home page, he smiles. He even chuckles at a few, but he understands them all. He knows all of the people, he’s spoken to them all and made an impression upon them all. He knows them, pure and simple.

    I surround myself with winners, because winners are the only people that are worth my time. Generation Global has succeeded throughout the past few years because we are willing to do whatever we need to do to survive and succeed within this industry, no matter the cost. We’ve done some ugly things, sure, some deeds that would make many scowl and others wince. But in the end, those ugly things and dastardly deeds have put us above all the good workhorses within the industry. It has thrown us to super stardom, where we now hold the reigns of a #GlobalBrand that threatens the take over the wrestling world, because it's all been by our design.

    A message then pops up on Tyler’s phone. A text message from a man that he has spent his time with so many times before: Christopher Jordan. Smiling, he reads it and nods, before closing his phone down and tucking it away.

    People like Christopher Jordan, that's who I surround myself with. You see, he understands what he has to do to succeed in life. He knows that to be successful and happy in life, you have to make the tough decisions that lesser men would throw up at. He’s been through hell since he was twelve years old, since that day when the family he had was ripped away from him without rhyme or reason, when he had standby helpless when his entire family crumbled around him. He was helpless then, but he’s worked through it and now he’s succeeded at every turn because he’s a winner, because he’s not helpless now. With my help, he was able to use his anger, his pain, to focus it into the dream he wanted so much and succeed. I surround myself with people like him. Winners. Not losers who believe they’re winning, because he’s a man who gets his hands dirty because he knows it’s the right thing to do and it will pay off in the end. He's like me, and that's a goddamn blessing.

    The doors open up and allow Tyler to walk out. Walking down the hall, he looks at everything on the walls until he reaches his apartment. Slotting the key inside, he turns the doorknob and walks inside, entering the only true haven he has within the world. His true home. White leather sofas, laminated mahogany wood flooring, a flatscreen TV lined on either side by wall-like windows that show him the multiple skyscrapers that he lives within, the ones he exists within. Mastercrafted into a paradise of Keenan’s very own design, the place reflects him. It is him.


    Standing in front of the camera, set up by hand in his living room, Keenan smiles. Scratching the beginnings of a beard upon his chin, his smile soon turns into a displeased look as he shakes his head and moves the camera once more, picking it up to place it down upon the coffee table within the circle of white leather sofas and recliners, all set up perfectly to watch the flatscreen, wall-hung TV on the wall. When he is happy at the positioning of the camera, Keenan finally smiles once more and takes a seat on the white sofa that the camera is facing, before pulling the camera up a little so that the audience at home can see his face fully, without any blur or cut off that cut ruin the shot of him.

    Looking at the camera, Tyler suddenly claps his hands together. The echo of the sound is sent around the room. Looking around, he smiles a wide grin and proceeds to fold his arms. Within seconds, he throws his legs upon the coffee table besides the camera and sighs.

    “Allow me to start by sending out a message, to start by answering a question that I’m sure that you all are just dying to hear a reply to. Yes, I enjoyed what I did to Will Neilson to win our match. Yes, I know I threw honour out of the window in order to achieve a victory that I have wanted for months on end.”

    There is a cockiness to Keenan’s voice, an arrogance that exists in so many volumes that it cannot be described. To say that he seems to be pleased with his victory at Democracy Rules would be an understatement. The look on his face tells the story, the story of a man who did exactly what he had planned to do.

    “But, to me, honour wasn’t something that was ever at stake. I lost my right to fight for honour a very long time ago, a great many years ago. What I said to Will Neilson the month before our battle, if you want to call it that, was simply the beginning of the mind games that ended up costing Will Neilson his chance at the Imperial title. I let Will Neilson think that our match would be fair throughout. I let him think that I would play by the rules and beat him to be the better man. I made sure that Will Neilson lowered his guard just enough for him to not be expecting a low blow or a rake to the eyes, because I had convinced him otherwise.

    That’s what I do, you see. I convince people. I have been told many times by many different people that I am a snake in the grass, a maestro with dialogue that can make you believe anything I want you to believe. I turned the world against Ryan Vendetta…heh, poor Ryan. I misled Will Neilson into costing himself the chance to fight for something he has dreamed about because he made a simple rookie mistake, and I have done it so many people that I have actually lost count. In fact, I’ve done it so many times that it earned me a nickname: First-Rate Manipulator.”

    Taking his feet from the coffee table, Keenan leans forwards to rest his forearms onto his knees. He wants the viewers to see his eyes, to see the truth behind them.

    “But in the end, Will Neilson lost. That’s what’s going to be written in the history books, because it does not matter how someone wins. It’s that they did win. That’s how legends are born, because the details of events become jaded and forgotten with time, but the records are never forgotten, only archived for someone to find. There is no one better in this industry that knows this better than the man who currently holds the most important piece of gold within the Royal Wrestling Kingdom, the one that calls himself ‘Nick’. The Emperor. The most important man to step into the ring and walk away time and time again with the gold.

    Not every man can hold the gold for over one hundred days. It takes a special kind of person to be able to do something like that. You may be vilified, you may be hated for the actions you have taken to keep your gold but I don’t see it as that. I see it as the necessary things you have said and done to keep a whole of the things you love so much. Plain and simple, you’re an emperor who’s too scared to loosen the grip on his gold for fear that someone will take it from you.”

    Holding his hands out, Tyler purses his lips. He waits a moment, then continues.

    “But that doesn’t mean what you’ve done is wrong. No, you answer to no man. You’ve done exactly what you believe is the right thing to do when it comes to defending your title. You’ve wormed your way into the head of a veteran wrestler, a man who’s no doubt had decades of experience within this sport, and reduced him to rage and anger because you targeted his weaknesses. You made him easy pickings because you were able to find out what made him tick. I commend you for that, Nick, lesser man would’ve tried to outwrestle him and failed. You’re smart.

    You’ve gone up against one of the most ruthless and determined men in this company, only to drive him to consume himself in his rage that he let his guard down, before you then used his will to never submit to make him pass out due to the pain. You show no remorse for hurting people, no matter who they are, and you use the weaknesses of your enemies in order to defeat them.”

    Scratching his chin once again, Tyler looks up into the air. He’s thinking about something, something particular. Like he’s connecting dots. When the lightbulb goes off in his head, he grins.

    “Now who does that remind you of? Oh yeah…me, that’s who. Tyler Keenan. The First-Rate Manipulator, the Modern-Day Wordsmith. You’re just a pale imitation of the real thing, you just haven’t realized it yet.

    You see, I’ve been to this mountaintop before, many years ago. I’ve done many things that many would call disgraceful, despicable and disgusting in order to achieve my goals. Since 2013 I have stepped between the ropes of the squared circle and outwitted my opponents to achieve my goals, because I know it is the best way to defeat them. It’s a beautiful sight to see, when the bell rings to declare you the winner and you rise from that pinfall, or you rise from that submission, to watch the fire burn out in their eyes when they realize what’s happening. When they realize that they’ve lost, that they’ve sweat so much, expelled so much energy only to come up so short, the sight to see that fire extinguished can’t beat anything in the world.

    You’ll have that fire, Nick, and I can’t wait to watch it be snuffed out.”

    Slowly rising to his feet, Tyler grabs the camera and lifts it from the coffee table.

    “Come on, it’s time you see something. Something that’ll help you realize what you’re truly up against if you don’t know it yet.”

    Walking away from the white leather seats, Keenan walks down a small corridor and opens the door at the end, clicking the light on to show what looks to be a trophy room. Glass cabinets line the walls, filled with amateur wrestling trophies and many more awards, picture frames hang from nails in the wallpaper and plaster, showing important moments in Keenan’s life that have long since become memory.

    But none of these are important, not now.

    Instead, Tyler takes the camera over to the far-right wall, where a title belt is hanging on two hooks that extend out of the plaster. Placing the camera down on a cabinet to his left, we watch Keenan take down the title and throw it over his shoulder. We can see the pride on his face, the excitement in his eyes to throw the title over his shoulder once again. It makes him smile.

    “This title…is the Next Generation Wrestling Tag Team Championship. This title has a twin, a twin that is hanging in the trophy room of my best friend. But that’s not important right now, what is important is the method. You see, this is a title that I won by snapping someone’s arm. Snapping it clean. I hooked him into the Hollywood Vice and it wrenched it, I wrenched his limb like a man possessed because I knew that I would never get a chance like the chance I had then. Nobody could take that moment from me, and there was no chance in hell I was letting him go. He had held those titles, this title, with his partner for far too long.

    So, you cannot tell me about the lengths someone will go to in order to achieve something they care about because, like I said, I’ve been to the mountaintop before. I listened, I closed my eyes and I listened as his muscles torqued and his bone snapped in two, I dropped down onto my back and I listened as I heard him scream…and I didn’t feel any remorse, any guilt, because I knew it had to be done. I knew that there would be no second chances. I don’t regret my choice.”

    Placing the title slowly, and carefully, back up upon the wall, Tyler sighs and walks over to the camera. There’s no sadness in his eyes, only pride. His words were spoken true, without any sense of lies or deceit.

    “You listen carefully, and you listen good, Nick. You’ve held that title for over one hundred days. You’ve defeated veterans, you’ve defeated your past, you’ve even defeated one of the meanest sons of bitches that I’ve ever seen step into a ring before, but keep in mind that there’s nobody like me. There’s nobody in the entire wrestling world that will go to the lengths that I’ve been to.

    There’s a potential inside of me, an ability to create a legacy that will last throughout the ages. I’ve travelled the globe to do what I love, to create something that will be left behind when I am dead and buried. When I won that tag team championship, I proved that the will to be a champion is within my blood. It flows through my veins and exists within every part of me. It takes a champion to know a champion, and I knew you the minute I set my eyes upon you. Ice cold killer, the mentality of a man who has nothing to lose. You exist to be a wrestling machine, you exist to win titles because you know that it’s something you can do, something that you’re good at. You know that you can do it, but you’re scared to let go of the ones you do hold because you know that you don’t want to be reduced to what you once were. A nobody. A former champion that’s had his time. When I see you, I see a man who’s building his legacy like me, but let this be clear: I will be the one that tramples over your legacy like no tomorrow, because I will be the one to end your reign.”

    Smiling, Tyler rubs his hands together. He’s evidently enjoying this.

    “When I signed my contract and joined this company, I had my eyes firmly set upon the title that is now slung over your shoulder, that is clasped around your waist. I decided that the Imperial Championship, the Crown Jewel, would be mine, that it belonged around my waist and the waist of none other. I’ve slogged through pain and hardship to reach this point, I’ve been through hell in a cell, I’ve endured pain more times that I can count, I’ve been through physiotherapy and surgery for a kneecap that was almost crumbled into bone dust, but I’ve done it because I know that the title you hold belongs to me.”

    Pulling the title close to his face, Keenan furrows his brow.

    “If you want to step up to me and argue why exactly you’re the reigning, defending champion and how you’ll beat me at Last Rites then go ahead, but know that I will come back and rip your arguments apart like there is no tomorrow because there will be nothing on this Earth, not heaven nor hell, that will stop me from climbing the mountain and being pronounced the Emperor of this company. I’ve had the chance to be king stolen from me before...I won’t let you steal it from me.

    Know your goddamn enemy, because he’s the one that’ll be standing over you as the fire goes out in your eyes, and you will know that I am your lord, your emperor, when I raise your title above my head and press my boot into your chest. One hundred days is a record, but it doesn’t make you superhuman.”

    Immediately, Tyler presses the end recording button on the camera and sighs deeply, looking up at the NGW Tag Team Championship with pride and joy. This was his time, his time to shine. There are no more imitators, because he knows that the last one will finally be destroyed in fire and flames.

    • Like Like x 8
  3. #3 Nickelodeon, Aug 24, 2017
    Last edited: Aug 24, 2017
    The 100 Day Address: Playing the Game

    "Today is August 24th, 2017. Exactly 100 days ago the reign of the Emperor began."

    Nick is relaxing in an expansive, brown leather couch in the living room of his downtown apartment. He is wearing his brand new RWK t-shirt, and gray chino shorts. To his left is the entrance towards his balcony, which overlooks East River. To his right is the kitchen and a long corridor that extends past our view. Behind him is a wall, decorated to the brim with an assortment of paintings, vinyls, photographs, and above all else, the RWK Imperial Championship. In front of him lies a long, wooden table, where a glass of water and television remote rest. The champion sits up slightly straighter, looking even more confident than the last time we saw him.

    "100 days since I reached a level of greatness nobody ever has before. 100 days since I ascended from the mere King to the Emperor. But my rule doesn't end today. It doesn't end tomorrow. It doesn't end at Last Rites. It doesn't end this year. It doesn't even end this century! Because nobody on this planet has the ability to compete with somebody on my level right now!"

    He briefly glances up at his title that hangs on the wall, a smile growing from ear to ear. Nick faces the camera directly again, the smile now slowly dissipating.

    "But even after all this time, I am still disrespected, misunderstood, and underestimated. It doesn't bother me, really. I stopped fighting for other people's respect a long time ago, and I just LOVE seeing the expression on people's faces after they realize how great I really am. But I just don't understand. Every month, I'm supposed to lose. Whether it's because my opponent is too strong for me, or is too vicious, or is too good in the ring, my reign is always expected to end. I always am facing my toughest challenge yet or an opponent I can't handle, yet every time I walk out victorious. Honestly, it just makes taste of victory that much sweeter. Imagine proving everybody wrong for 100 days straight. That's all you'll ever be able to do, Tyler Keenan. Imagine."

    The champion rises from the sofa and grabs the camera. He walks out and stands on the balcony, now fully furnished. Towards one end there is a home bar, and the other contains a barbecue and long dining table. He sets the camera down on the bar, allowing us to see a great view. Nick leans against the railing, the Brooklyn Bridge perfectly behind him in the distance.

    "People wonder why I take such pride in my city. Not just Brooklyn, but the whole Big Apple. It's because New York City is my family. My father split before I could even form a memory, and my mother died soon after. All I had left was this city. The subway and the pavements were my brothers and sisters. There's something indescribable about growing up here, and you share that feeling with everyone around you. The people that felt the same struggles as me. New York is our home... and you, Tyler, entered uninvited."

    "You can call Manhattan your true home, but it isn't. And neither are any of the other boroughs. You aren't welcome here. You don't know a damn thing about MY city. I doubt you've been anywhere outside of Midtown like the rest of your people that come and pollute our city. You don't know what it's like buying a $2 slice from Joe's Pizza at 3 AM, or seeing the Knicks play at Madison Square Garden. Things like these are meaningless to you, but for a real New Yorker, they are their culture. And you dared to call my home and my people, 'normal'."

    He takes a breath and grabs the camera, returning back to his living room. Nick sets it back down to its original location and faces the wall that is behind the couch, pointing at various plaques, record and signed photographs that are proudly displayed.

    "Take a look. This is what New York exports. Michael Jordan, Wu-Tang Clan, Nas, Derek Jeter, The Ramones, Jay-Z and above all else, the RWK Imperial Champion Nick. This is why I'm so proud of where I'm from. This city produces greatness - not imports. You are no New Yorker. I'll show you the power of New York's greatest production when we meet in the ring. After Last Rites, you'll never be able to step foot within this city again."

    Nick glares at the camera. The animosity he has can be felt. The champion takes his seat once again and takes a quick moment to drink some of the water that is on his table before setting the glass down. His expression shifts from the serious demeanor he was just displaying to slightly more relaxed again.

    "Tyler, I know that you do you have the potential to be dangerous. And it's not because of your intelligence or your skills as a wrestler. Because unlike those that have come before you, you are willing to go above and beyond the rules of a wrestling match. That's an ability that is more dangerous than any amount of athletic prowess or technical mastery. All it takes is one distraction, one manipulation of the boundaries to change the outcome of the match. Like me, you'll do whatever it takes to accomplish your goals."

    Nick begins scratching his chin, a subtle, smug smirk slowly forming.

    "Wait just a minute... you'll do whatever it takes to win. No matter how dirty or disrespectful. You've done many despicable, horrible things to get where you are today. The rules are just suggestions to you. You're arrogant, and you couldn't give a damn about respect. You proudly reside in New York. And your group, Generation Global, has the end goal of taking over the entire wrestling industry. Now, let me ask YOU... who does that remind you of?"

    Knowing exactly what he is doing, Nick acts like he just made a breakthrough.

    "Ah! I know who! The RWK Imperial Champion, The Emperor, Nick. But, the thing is... you're just the poor man's version of me. You just haven't realized it yet."

    He grins in a manner similar to Keenan's, almost mocking his next opponent. Behind his confident eyes, you can see a plan formulating.

    "Now, I think it's time that I showed YOU something."

    Nick rises from his seat once again and picks the camera up. He turns towards the left and heads down the corridor that was previously out of our view. After walking down and passing a few doors, he enters the final one at the end of the hall. He presses a light switch to reveal a room that he showed off quite a long time ago - his trophy room. Each championship title and award that the champion has ever won rest comfortably in glass display cases. He looks at the fruits of his labor with just as much pride as Keenan, if not more.

    "You said that since 2013 you stepped into the ring, and outwitted everyone. You've claimed this business as your own, but you really don't have much to show for it. Because this business isn't about how much money your parents have or how good looking you are. It's about your talents, your intelligence, your drive to be better than ANYONE ELSE in this world and quite frankly I think you're in way over your head here. You snapped a guy's arm? That's cute. Last time I checked, a person who I defeated very recently literally killed a man in the ring. And do you remember what I did to him? Did you watch that match, when I locked him in the Brooklyn Bridge and made his own body break on him? The sound of his shoulder collapsing... it was indescribable. I've got no problem doing to you what I did to El Pecador, or KJ, or what I did to obtain these accolades."

    He points towards the IWT Money in the Bank contract.

    "You wanna know what I did to win this? I ended a career. I power bombed a woman off a ladder, and she injured her neck so badly she had no choice but to retire. And I'd do it all over again if I could, because it was what needed to be done to walk out victorious. You know what that's like, when there may not be another opportunity to get what you've worked so hard for. But unlike you, I did capitalize. And ending her career was just so I could earn a title match. And you saw with your own eyes how I tormented KJ Kidd for so I could gain the championship. Now imagine the lengths I would go to keep this championship. Tyler, you said you've been at this mountaintop before, but where you stand now and stood before is no mountaintop. You're on the home stretch of the trail, just about to reach the summit. But just like last time you almost reached glory, you'll fall. But it won't because of any murky circumstances. You'll be denied entry to the peak by ME. I'm the one who's been at the mountaintop for 100 days. I've been the one at the mountaintop more times than you've fallen down the mountain!"

    Nick touches the case of the IWT World Heavyweight Championship, a satisfied grin plastered to his face. He admires the championship's beauty for a few seconds, and turns back to the camera.

    "Tyler, you called me a pale imitation of you. Don't flatter yourself. I didn't even know who you were until Democracy Rules. Because you've been irrelevant to me your whole career."

    He cockily smirks in the direction of the camera, as if he is looking Tyler Keenan directly in the face and not through the lens of a camera.

    "In your simple mind, you may jump to the conclusion that I'm doing exactly as you said. That I'm imitating you. And I have been playing the imitation game since I pressed the record button. But the truth is I'm doing everything you just did to prove a point. Remember how I called you the poor man's version of me? I said that because I'm so much better than you at everything you pride yourself on and strive to accomplish."

    "Allow me to explain. Tyler, your goal with Generation Global is to take over the wrestling industry. You've brought in your friend Christopher Jordan, and some guy from another promotion that nobody else knows to accomplish this goal. While the three of you haven't been able to do this, I did it by my lonesome! How can I be a pale imitation if I'm the one doing everything you've ever wanted do? For 100 days, I've ruled Royal Wrestling Kingdom. I am the 2 time, and last ever IWT World Heavyweight Champion. The undefeated PWGP Jr Heavyweight Champion. My list of accomplishments goes on and on. I don't give myself nicknames and catchphrases like you do - I earn them. I am simply known throughout RWK as The Emperor, not because I just decided to award myself this moniker, but because I earned it. It's not a little slogan that comes with my name, because I'm not focused on being a brand like you. My brand, which is truly the 'global' one, isn't just a collection of constructed nicknames, failures, and unfulfilled dreams like yours. My brand is my dominance from one end of the wrestling world to the other. The Global Brand threatens to take over the world, but they lack the manpower to end the rule of the Imperial Brand."

    Nick picks the camera up again and goes behind, filming a final shot of the trophy room he takes so much pride in. He wants Tyler to see that he means exactly what he says and has the gold to prove. The champion exits the room and heads back into the living room once again, setting the camera back into its original place and taking a seat at the edge of the couch.

    "You said it takes a champion to know a champion. While it's certainly been made clear that you're not the same caliber of champion that I am, I guess I have to give you some credit. So let me talk to you, champion to champion. You have these delusions of grandeur. That you're some important figure, a great wrestler. You may have been good in NGW or wherever the hell you were before this, but it's clearly not the case now. You say you'll do whatever it takes to win but it seems that more often than not you aren't winning. Last time I checked, your match with Will Neilson was your first win within RWK. The only reason you're even granted the opportunity to face me is because I've already beaten every credible threat to my reign. You're certainly not a credible threat. Because you say you've been through all this pain and hardship, but it's clear to me and everyone else that you crumble in the face of adversity - just like your knee. You brag about going through the hell in a cell, but you didn't even win the match. And instead of trying to finish the job against Vendetta, you just walked away from it all."

    "So now I have to ask, what will happen when you face your most adverse challenge yet at Last Rites? Will you break like you did in the hell in a cell match, or just walk away with your tail between your legs again? A hell in a cell match can be tough, but NOTHING even comes close to the challenge of facing me. KJ Kidd was on the verge of retirement after what I did to him. Spawn vanished for months after I defeated him back in April. And El Pecador, a man who's won more matches in RWK in one night than you have in all your time here was left broken by me. When you step in the ring with me, your life changes because of how badly I beat you. Because I don't just break your body, I crush your soul. I make every person who stands in front of me choke on their words as I plant their head into the mat and walk out victorious. You talk about you being the 'First Rate Manipulator', but I pretty much wrote the book on manipulation. I think that my trophy room being so much bigger than yours is all the proof that I need to back that claim. Every single championship I've won was done through manipulation. You've witnessed me manipulating everyone of my opponents. Playing to their emotions, or working them to be in the exact position where I want them to be. Our match at Last Rites is going to be a battle of manipulation. So who do you think is going to walk out victorious? The man who has been failing to manipulate his opponents all year, or the man who has successfully manipulated a whole promotion for 100 days? I think we all know the answer to that question."

    The champion gives a nod of assurance and a confident smile in the direction of the camera. He stands up from his couch and slowly paces back and forth along the hardwood floors.

    "You said you have potential to be great. You say I've never faced anyone like you, but I've met so many people who spew the same exact bullshit as you do. The phrase 'I have potential' means nothing to me. I've heard so many people go on and on about their potential. How they have the will to win! You may have the will but at the end of the day your will doesn't even come close to mine! They lose match after match, but they still cling to this concept of potential. Potential in this business just means false hope. How many losses will it take for you to realize your potential isn't great enough to reach my level? Because I'll beat your ass over and over all around the globe if I have to. You have the potential to leave a legacy, sure. But you won't. And it may be just because you got unlucky that I'm the one blocking your path to the top. I'm sure if it was anyone else, you'd have a fair chance but with me guarding the pinnacle of the mountain you have no shot. Because I'm just as concerned with leaving a legacy as you are. I've achieved enough to leave a legacy greater than anyone else that's ever competed under the RWK banner. But that's not enough for me, I'm always adding to my legacy. And I'll go to lengths beyond the capabilities of your body to ensure that I continue to add to my legacy. The next chapter in my legacy is what comes after today. My continued dominance. How my rule was relentless, and NOBODY stood a chance at taking me off the throne. This chapter of my legacy will be the greatest championship reign in professional wrestling history."

    Nick pulls the RWK Imperial Championship down from the wall behind him. He takes some time to gaze at the championship. It glimmers in the light, and the champion stares at it with a great sense of pride. He looks up to the camera and proudly shows his title to the camera. His expression shows just how emotional he is about this championship. Nick's face is reddening with passion. The tone of his voice in that last line as well these upcoming statements makes the emotion palpable.

    "So go ahead Tyler. Go do your modeling shoots, go audition for acting roles, go talk your talk on Twitter. Focus on making yourself into the Global Brand! While you're busy with all that nonsense, I'll keep doing what I've been doing since May 16th, 2017. I'll keep doing everything I've struggled for, everything I've worked my whole life for! I'll keep doing everything you wish you were doing! I'll keep ruling the wrestling world!"

    After the champion shouts that last line, we see one final shot of him proudly holding the RWK Imperial Championship up to the camera, his serious yet passionate demeanor perfectly summarizing everything he has said.
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  4. Knock It Off

    “Don’t let him bring you down.”

    The voice of Tyler’s sister, Santa Monica’s favourite model Katrina Keenan, echoes through his phone on loudspeaker as he himself paces back and forth across his apartment’s living room, hands clasped tightly behind his back as he does so. The phone, lying flat on the end of the coffee table, has rather a good echo around the room and appears louder than any normal loudspeaker conversation should. Nevertheless, her words don’t seem to help Tyler much anyhow. He seems too focused on his own sorrows and anger to actually listen her words.

    “He’s not bringing me down. He’s irritating me.”

    Tyler Keenan’s voice snaps back, standing and staring at the phone. Even though Katrina wasn’t in the room with him, he stares at the direction of her voice like she was. There was no word of a lie that he was irritated, that he was angered, because it was all true. Everything that was being said between the two Keenan siblings was completely and utterly true. They had no need to lie to one another, or to mix their words to make sure the other wasn’t hurt. They spoke the truth, because they knew that the other could handle it.

    “Okay, then don’t let him irritate you.”

    Shaking his head, Keenan places his hands upon his hips and sighs heavily. She doesn’t understand, she never has understood. Only a wrestler can understand the worries and troubles of another wrestler, and it was safe to say that Katrina Keenan was never, ever, going to be a wrestler. Tyler had tried to train her, he had done his best to get her into the ring and show her the basics. He had even brought the man that trained him and Christopher Jordan, Christopher Calhoun, down to make sure he wasn’t missing any of the vital stuff that she needed.

    But somehow, with a team of trained athletes and successful wrestlers behind her, Katrina still didn’t manage to do anything correctly. It showed Tyler something, it showed him that he couldn’t do anything but fight. He wasn’t going to be the one that, when he retired, would open a school and teach younger wrestlers how to become good wrestlers that would shake the world with their talent. No, Tyler was far too stubborn and far too arrogant to even try that. Instead, he was going to forge his legacy and wander off into the sun. Maybe he’d buy a beach house? Maybe he’d go live in the Amazon Rainforest and become a hermit so nobody would bother him.

    “It’s a lot harder than that. I’ve been disrespected, Kitty. I feel disrespected, and you know fully well that we can’t let that shit lie. We’re Keenans.”

    A chuckle emanates through the loudspeaker, a girly giggle that has always made Tyler smile. His twin, the one that has been by his side throughout the twenty-six years he had been on the planet, was always the one to sit and listen to his troubles when nobody else wanted to hear them. Dad wouldn’t understand, Mom would make a mountain out of the tiny molehill that was the situation, but Kitty? Nah, Katrina knew exactly how to handle the problems as they came. They had been brought up together, which meant they thought like one another. It meant they were linked, and could figure out one another’s problems without much effort.

    “Now you’re sounding like Dad. Tyler, you know what you need to do.”

    Slowly nodding his head as an answer to her questions, Tyler raises it and looks at the wall directly in front of him. There wasn’t much there, just a wall covered in grey paint. Perhaps it needed a painting on there? Or a sculpture? Tyler didn’t know, but it didn’t stop him from thinking. Perhaps he was like his father, in some ways. Perhaps he was becoming more and more like a vicious businessman. But it was that edge that he needed, the edge of the business tycoon could solve all his problems with honeyed words and wit. His father had always been good at that, ending arguments and diffusing tense situations with his words. Tyler supposed that was where he got his gift from, ‘the gift of gab’ as his mother called it. That always made Tyler smile.

    Tyler cursed under his breath. He needed to get his mind off of this situation, off this damned fool that had been driving him insane for the past day or so. He had always been too caught up in the words of others to care about the truth. The man, his enemy, his words had hit him so hard they had made him angry. Angrier than Tyler had ever been before in a wrestling situation. With one more quick exhale of breath from his lungs, Tyler glances to the door to the kitchen and balls his fists. He had fought against it, Lord knows he had fought against it, but he knew he needed it.

    “Fuck, I’m gonna get a drink.”

    “Tyler, no! You know that’s not the answer!”

    Kitty’s voice, Kitty’s yell, rings through the household like a bullet on a deflective surface. Tyler immediately stopped and grabbed his ear, cursing under his breath. With a shake of his head, he moved towards the coffee table and picked up his phone. She was doing what he had told her to do, just like he had told the rest of his family members and his close friends. He had too many vices involving drink for him to be able to drink it wantonly, but his therapist had said that he was recovered enough to be able to go out and drink with friends under moderation.

    “Moderation, K. One drink won’t set me off.”

    “Are you sure about that? You’re not really in the shape of mind.”

    With a grumble, Keenan simply moves up the small set of stairs up towards the front door, before turning right and going through the door to the kitchen. With a smile, he places his phone down upon the black marble table top of the island in the centre of the room and stretches his fingers out on his left hand. He had always loved this kitchen, for it was one of his most favourite places to be in the house. Custom-built, with the finest table tops that money can buy, with state-of-the art and top-of-the-line appliances like his refrigerator and his stove to compliment it. He needed these things to suit his hobbies, to cook proper food on fine appliances that could easily do what he needed them to control, instead of breaking at first notice.

    Pulling open the refrigerator door, Tyler cycles through all the ingredients on the shelves, the tomatoes, the kale, the cucumber and lettuce in the clear box at the bottom of the fridge. He didn’t need any of it, not at this moment in time. He needed a drink, he needed to drink. He needed to wash all his worries away with alcohol and replace them with his new intention. He needed to clear his head. Pulling a bottle of red wine, a beautiful vintage, out of the door, Tyler shuts the door with his foot and moves over to the cabinet above his head. Within a few seconds, Tyler has pulled out a wine glass and has set it down upon the island.

    “Tyler, you still there?”

    Katrina is swiftly given her answer by the subtle pouring of wine into a glass, which knowingly makes Keenan smile.

    “Jesus Christ. I hate you. I actually do.”

    Putting the wine bottle down and picking up the glass once again, Tyler takes a sip and leans against the island, simply contemplating his next move. He needed this, he needed this time to himself, with the alcohol in his hand and surrounded by everything that had been created within his design. All of it, everything single thing that was now happening, made him feel like the ‘old’ Tyler Keenan, the one that had been lost when everything was taken away on his finest day.

    “So, Kitty, what do I do? What do I need to do?”

    There were a few seconds between Tyler’s question and Kitty’s reply, but those seconds felt like minutes. It was clear she was thinking, but Tyler didn’t want her to use her head. He wanted the answer he knew he already knew, he wanted the answer that would confirm what he was always thinking.

    “Simple, bro. Go be the one and only Tyler Keenan. The Brooklyn bastard won’t know what’s hit him. Trust me.”

    With a smile, Tyler takes another sip of his glass of wine and sighs heavily to himself. Now he was smiling, now he knew his goal. Destruction, decimation and deliverance. Only he could do this next part, only Tyler Keenan can do the things that were meant to be done and said by him.

    “You think I can do it? Honestly? I’ve not felt like ‘him’ for a very long time.”

    Another long reply. Another few seconds of thinking that felt like an age.

    “Hell yeah you can do it and you know that. You don’t need to be ‘him’, you don’t need to always feel like you’re nothing like ‘him’, because you’re ‘you’. Tyler Keenan isn’t a person that has been left behind, he’s adapted and evolved. There never has been a ‘him’, Ty, you’ve just tried to give yourself something to aim for. But now you have your goal within your fingertips. Just grasp it.”

    Yet another sip of wine, yet another minute of thinking condensed into a few short seconds.

    “Alright, thanks sis.”

    Tyler smiles, although she cannot see it.

    “No problem.”

    Her sweet, innocent voice crackles through the phone speakers once more.

    “Now go show him why you’re a champion.”


    REC ON

    “You know, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t expect more.”

    The feed of the camera crackles to life in the renowned Keenan living room once more, but is absent one large thing: the man himself. Instead, his voice sounds like it is all around the room, like a spectral phantom that is haunting the apartment and presenting its embodiment for all at home to see. There is nothing, absolutely nothing at all. For the moment, at least.

    “You speak of your title reign like it is indestructible. You speak of the invincible run that you have had since you ripped that golden belt, the same one you wear proudly around your waist, from the hands of a cripple back in April. You stand tall in front of your camera and preach that you’re the best around, that nobody can defeat the Brooklyn-born champion, that nobody can step to the Emperor because you crush everyone in front of you. You list your accomplishments like they’re something that people should note, you show your credentials to the world because you want to show them that you’re legitimate. Yet, for all that time you spent standing tall for all to see, preaching your words that fell on deaf ears, all I heard was the same exact random bullshit that every other person says when their back is against the wall.”

    Finally stepping into view, we see him. Tyler Keenan. The figurehead of the Global Brand. The leader of Generation Global. Glass of wine in-hand, sporting the slanted golden crown that presents his intentions, the Californian walks from behind the camera and presents himself before his followers, his fans.

    “You say that I have potential means nothing to you? Well the fact that someone does nothing but tries to defend themselves against the onslaught brought upon them by their opponent and does nothing to support their case means nothing to me. Nothing whatsoever. You’ve shown me your true self, Nick, as you’ve shown it to every single person around who was willing to withstand the tommy gun round of bullshit that came from between your lips. You’re not a champion, you’re a fraud. I’ve seen countless champions come and go throughout my career and, trust me, you don’t have single cent of worth and prestige that will let you step to them. You’re no Emperor, you’re a self-deluded son of a bitch who has more in common with a hood rat on the side of the street than Alexander the Great.”

    Placing his glass of wine firmly down on the table, Keenan stares at the camera before him. He lets the world see his eyes, he lets them see the burning fury that exists at the back of them. He lets the entire of the RWK see the fire, the power, the capable destruction that is coming.

    “Emperors exert dominance, they show power before their subjects. All I’ve seen from your is fraudulence and the willingness to claw and scratch when your back is against the wall. You’re afraid, you’re clutching your title tight, because you know that I present a greater threat than anyone has ever presented to you and your title reign in the 100 days plus you held onto it. I can see it in your eyes, the fright and the nerves hidden by the big dick bravado and posturing. You have more in common with a silverback gorilla in mating season than you do with an emperor.”

    A sinister smile creeps across his face as he relishes what he is saying. None of it is faked, for Tyler knows he speaks the truth in every single word that comes from his mouth. Confidence and self-worth oozes from him for all to see, with the presentation he is showing to the camera.

    “It does take a champion to know a champion. You’re right about that. But then, I ask this. Do you know me at all? If you did, you’d know better than to say that the Brand that I have built has not done anything of note. You damned fool, scratching at whatever pretty insults you can throw together inside your head. Take a step back and look down from your mountain, zoom out from your self-absorbed arrogance and take a look around. Christopher Jordan is the RWK European Champion, the reigning and defending midcard ruler with nobody standing in his way. I am the man that hides in your shadows, the man that stands before you and waits for the correct chance to pounce and rip your title from you. We’ve achieved more in the last few months than anyone else has in the RWK for months. If that’s accomplishing nothing of note, then goddamn you’re a deluded moron who I will relish beating the shit out of, for morons like you irritate me.”

    Clasping his hands together, Tyler leans back. There is a plan in mind, hidden in plain sight. Presenting himself, Tyler looks to be inviting people, welcoming them to try and step to him and figure out the master plan.

    “You wrote the book on manipulation. How cute. I provided the paper, bitch. I’ve not heard anything come from your mouth that feels remotely threatening. Your entire argument boils down to the idiot in the back of the class that goes ‘oh yeah? If I’m that, then what are you?’ It’s downright pathetic. When you step to someone, maybe think of decent arguments that can be made instead of standing there and spewing defensive shit that does nothing but show you as a pint-sized coward that is throwing his hands up over his face in an attempt to shield himself from the arrows that I spit from my tongue. You paint yourself as a clown in a rowing boat, trying to navigate the lava I spit from my vocal chords.”

    Now folding his arms, Tyler leans forwards.

    “But enough of washing my hands of the disgusting mess you made trying to defend yourself, because I’m done with that.”

    Throwing his hands up, Tyler mockingly slaps them together as if he is wiping dust from his hands. With a disgusted face, he wipes them on his jeans and shudders, before grabbing his phone from out of his jeans.

    "Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Dr. Tyler Keenan. California-born, Manhattan living. Not that it matters, but it’s just an interesting tidbit. Now, in case you wish to check my credentials, let it be known that I have a legitimate PhD in breaking the minds of fools who think they can step to me and provide a decent case. I’d like to step before the judge and the jury today to show the case of a man that I have been personally studying for the past month or so.”

    Throwing his phone up for the camera to see, we focus on the Google page that has ‘RWK Champ Nick’ written in the searchbar. The page is scrolled down halfway and shows the maximum of three pictures of the current Imperial Champion on it.

    “Now, it took a bit of searching but I managed to find a picture of my subject. So, now that we’ve all had a look of the man in question, I’d like to put forward my thesis. According to my calculations, the subject suffers from serious delusions of grandeur, a severe egomaniac complex and possibly an inferiority complex. My evidence? Well, let’s take the idea that this man, the so-called Nick, presents himself as ‘the Emperor of RWK’, although he has never been crowned by a proper authority or has a crown to present himself with as a symbol of authority. This ties into the delusions that I spoke of earlier, for the man in question I believe is too scared and suffering to face the facts that he is just like everyone else. Nick places himself on a higher platform because he does not wish to be compared to anyone else, because he is too scared of being ‘normal’, per say. It’s quite sad.”

    Pulling his phone back, Tyler slowly shakes his head from side to side and sighs heavily.

    “I could go on and on about the poor fool on this photo, but I feel it’s too distressing and disrespectful to delve into. I mean, ladies and gentlemen, we should leave this poor fool some shred of dignity so that he can at least walk into Last Rites with a fake smile on his face. It’s not like he’s walking into a confirmed loss or anything.”

    Grinning once again, Tyler leans in close.

    “Don’t try and compare yourself to me, and don’t even think about ever trying to say that I’m an imitation. There is no imitating, there is only the truth. I’ve slayed idiots who thought that they could step to me and prove that they are better time and time again, times beyond counting. I have sneakers to prove it, I have fragrances and fans to show for it. What do you have? Oh yeah, a few plates of gold that are nailed into the strip of smelly, sweaty leather that has been trapped around your waist. I mean, to think that’s the legacy you have, it’s downright pathetic. Sometimes, you need to learn to just sit down and shut up, because your arguments are invalid in every sense of the word and everyone can see it. You’re done. I’ve personally seen to that, just like I will at Last Rites. That’s a damned fact.”

    Wiping his hands, Tyler leans forwards and presses the off-switch on the camera, ending the recording and leaving the fans in darkness.


    Standing up, Tyler breathes out heavily and grins from ear-to-ear. Picking up his glass of wine, he takes a sip of it as he looks around, pleased with the message that he has just presented for all to see. Walking over to his window, he takes another sip and stares out at the New York skyline.

    “This is your ‘kingdom’, Nick, huh?” He mutters to himself. “Heh. Now it’s mine.”

    Downing the drink, he smiles. Content.
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    • Winner Winner x 1