"Victory at all costs, victory in spite of terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival." - Winston Churchill
-PROMO BEGIN-
Victory is one of the sweetest points in the human condition. People are naturally tuned to strive for victory, to strive to become the best. And that's where it ends for me. Because i don't have to strive to become anything....I am the best.
This will be a short promo, because frankly i don't have much to say. The cause, the effect, the entire being of the Age of Arrogance was explained through what i did to that big German idiot on Thursday. Everything that needs to be said was said through that match on thursday, because what i did to the daft, stupid German buffoon who seriously thought that he had it in him to be more than what he was - a glorified jobber.
And that's actually a compliment, because i think glorified is too nice of a word to describe exactly how much of a loser Apostle is. Everything that i did to him on thursday exemplified all that we are on about with the Age of Arrogance, all that we are trying to accomplish here in saving the wrestling world from itself.
So just watch this week, when we make our point further known against Real Steele, and then you'll be able to witness true greatness, true quality, and you'll be able to see that Cable and I no longer have to strive to become anything....
Because we're already the best.
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I grin as i walk past the receptionist at the desk, a good-looking girl of about twenty-three with dark brown hair. I pass a few doctors and nurses and other important people around the hospital, making sure i've got the right floor.
"239, 240, 241...." I mutter to myself, rattling off the names of the hospital room numbers.
I pass other important people, and it's as i walk past that i reflect on the pain that the man i'm visiting must be going through right now. The humiliation, the shame and the true embarrassing pain of it all, losing the one match that he so desperately craved - and needed - to win. And to fall short like that...it must be terrible for him.
As i pass a room in St. Luke's hospital, i am reminded of the time when i was in hospital, only a few short months ago, during which time i was having a serious look at my life and where i had gone wrong. That led me to become a better person, the best person i could be. It lead to the technical messiah of professional wrestling.
And to think, that all it involved was just to listen, to absorb information and to change one's ways. I wonder if that's what Apostle will be doing right now. That is, if he gets the chance to ever wrestle again.
Some will say that my sneak attack was cheap, and dirty, and that i didn't deserve a win. To them, i say that if war was ever as fair as that, human history would have been a lot less interesting. What was the quote? Ah yes, 'All's fair in love and war.'
Fortunately for both myself and Mr. Kried this is more on the war side of things, and all is fair when it comes to war. Because in a warzone, it becomes victory at any cost. In the words of the great Winston Churchill, "without victory, there is no survival", and i'm always going to be the one surviving. Because the ideal always outplays skeptics.
I finally reach hospital room number 251 and smile as i see the door is closed. However, before i can open it, a doctor steps out, with a white coat covering his other clothes. He is of African-american descent, and has a pair of glasses on, with dark hair.
"Um, who are you?" The doctor asks, somewhat irritably.
"Name's Drake Hunter, you've probably heard of me. MPW, i wrestle with your patient in there." He looks down at his notepad for a few seconds before answering.
"Yes, i've heard of you, my daughter's absolutely infatuated with the whole business, i can't see it to be honest." This guy is really starting to get on my nerves.
"Well you can tell your daughter that you're petty, insignificant life has been somewhat lifted from it's dry, dreary state by meeting one of the greatest performers you will ever meet in your lifetime. So you can count yourself lucky..." I motion to move past him into the room, but he stops me with a soft hand placed against my chest.
"I''m sure being a wrestler you're just naturally an asshole, so i'll ignore that last comment, but you can't see Mr. Kried right now, we're about to perform an operation on him so he's under right now." I move back, somewhat disappointed.
"Okay then." I say. "By the way, is his sister in right now?"
"As a matter of fact, she is. Why, what would you want with her?" He looks down at his notepad once again as if bored.
"Okay, then give this to her." I hand him the object that i had stored in my bag, pulling out the white towel with my blood - and other things - on them, including also the blood of Apostle, still red from thursday night. "And tell her it's from Mr. Hunter, and she can keep it as a message."
"If i may ask, what is that message sir?" He asks, feeling the conversation about to come to an end.
"Never fuck with Drake Hunter." I say, moving back ninety degrees, before i stop for a second, and then come back around, slapping the ignorant and stupid doctor across the face. "A message you should have picked up at the start of this conversation." I whisper into his ear as he holds his cheek, watching me leave with disdain. Before i enter the elevator however, i say one more thing.
"Oh, and also tell Kried's sister, that Mr. Clash says Hi."
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