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We fade in to a shot of a tombstone. No, not the piledriver variant, an actual stone marking a grave. The tablet is covered in writing which simply reads:
The shot lingers on this image for a little while before zooming out to reveal that the picture is on a television screen. A screen affixed to a wall. Standing next to the screen, contented smirk and pure sexual charm, is Jamie Krenshaw. He admires the image for a moment before turning to face the camera. Tag Team Title belt hanging over his shoulder and the sweet smell of victory hanging in the air, the Virtuoso of Violence graces you with his soothing voice. JAMIE: And like that, they're gone. A beaming grin. JAMIE: The Freytag Effect, the pair of obstreporous miscreants who swooped into this company cawing about how they were going to take us all by storm... they're no longer. The grin just grows. Pride in it's purest form. JAMIE: They're no longer a threat to the Tag Team Titles. They're no longer allowed to make excuses about their numerous losses to Krunch and I. They're no longer relevant. Everything they'd built, everything they claimed to be disappeared forever when that referee's hand slapped the mat 1, 2, 3. All the talk of being the better Tag Team, all the threats about "not leaving without those titles," all the incessant blathering that Krunch was not good enough to help me get the job done... all empty lies espoused by proven losers. See, after all the talking and fighting was done, it was still Krunch and Jamie Krenshaw standing side by side as TWD's ONLY Champions. Just like we said would happen. A condascending nod. JAMIE: So what does this mean for the Freytag Effect? Having been comprehensively beaten at their own game, having been embarrassed, humbled and shamed in front of a national audience, what are they to do now? Frankly, I couldn't care less. They can challenge us again. They can slink away in the night and never show up at a TWD event again. They can do whatever the hell they want because, at the end of the day, at the end of the war, Krunch and I proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that we're better. Just relax your throat and accept that stiff truth, ladies and gents, this gold here... A gentle caress of the Tag Team Title. JAMIE: Is staying with me for a long, loooong time to come. A soft chuckle and a smirk. JAMIE: And speaking of gold, well, in just over a week's time, me right here, I'll have all the gold this company has to offer. A proud shake of the head. JAMIE: You didn't think my gloating over the destruction of Freytag Effect would distract from the true matter at hand, did you? No, there are much more pressing issues for me to discuss than the failure of two also-rans. One week ago, I solidified myself as one of two men atop this company's mountain. In one week's time, I will stand alone, above everyone, even my own Tag Team partner, as this company's first ever Double-Champion. Next Sunday at Devil's Dance, you will all witness the coronation of Jamie Krenshaw. Smile. JAMIE: For six months I've waded in this fetid cesspool, brushing away turd after stinking turd that tried to anchor themselves in front of me. Adam Young, Dragzilla, Freytag and Reddington, not to mention the rest. For six months I have soundly crushed every obstacle in my way and now I'm ready to get out of that pool and wash myself clean. I am at the precipice of a mission accomplished. I am one week away from becoming TWD World Champion. Pause. JAMIE: "But Jamie!" I hear you say, with a mouthful of whatever disgusting microwave dinner you've crammed down your gullet, "there are four other people in the title match. It's no foregone conclusion!" And again, as per usual, you're very, very wrong. This five-way match at Devil's Dance is the epitome of a foregone conclusion. Just look at my opponents: Filipe Barroqueiro, Eno Redrum, Saber and Colt Crawford. All men I've defeated. A couple of them are men I've defeated numerous times. All sharing a common bond that runs throughout the TWD locker room: they're not in my league. These are men who have lucked into a title opportunity due to the Devil's Dance Main Event necessatating multiple contenders. You look at those names. You properly look at them and try to tell me any of them are more deserving of a title shot than the Virtuoso of Violence? Go on. Think about it. JAMIE: How many of those men are undefeated like me? None. How many have a record of 31-0? None. How many have a 100 percent success rate in TWD Multi-Man matches? Not a single one. See, I'm unique to this business in so many ways but the one that's most pertinent in this case is that when opportunity comes knocking, I am always first to open that door and let it in. Can the same be said for any of my opponents? Can it be said for Filipe Barroqueiro, a man so weak he allowed his fellow Tag Team Champion to be taken out of contention two weeks before an important title match? Can it be said for Saber, a man so gullible he trusted that his sworn nemesis wouldn't stab him in the back and cost him his first ever wrestling championship? Can it be said for Eno Redrum, a man who succumbed to the "skills" of his own best friend? And can it be said for Colt Crawford, a walking HGH silo whose brainsnap knocked him from the highest peak his career will ever reach? Can it? JAMIE: No, no, no and no. I am the only one in this match with a fighting chance because I am the only one who wins the fight. I don't share the weaknesses that my opponent's and everyone else in this wretched industry share. I win succinctly and completely. I am a man possessed by my agenda, an agenda that's righteous and honorable. There's no way any of the ego-driven, jacked up, naive cowards in this match can stand in my way because I simply won't let them. Saber can talk about me being his white whale but we've seen time and time again that he doesn't have the bait, the rod or the boat required to even come close to catching me. Filipe Barroqueiro can pretend that he's earned this title shot but we all know he's just making up numbers. Colt Crawford can say that he's "holier than thou" 'til he's blue in the face but being holy doesn't make you a winner. Just ask the priest I kicked in the nuts when he tried to finger my sack. As for Eno Redrum, well, he can relive his army days as much as he wants but the fact of the matter is that I'm unlike any opponent he's ever faced in combat. I can stand up for myself and, as Eno knows all too well, I can kick his arse. His TWF Title reign ended at the 2007 Gauntlet pay-per-view with me standing tall as the World's Champion. Get ready for some deja vu, Eno, because Devil's Dance will have the exact same ending. Wink. JAMIE: The fact's are simple. There's not one man in this match who I haven't defeated and there's not one man in this match who's defeated me. In any company. Ever. This match is simply the coronation ceremony that will proclaim me the ruler of TWD and reigning World Heavyweight Champion. It's inevitable. It's destiny. It's the truth, coming to you from me, a man who doesn't lie. At Devil's Dance, after six months running this place without a title to proclaim my rightful superiority, I will claim what's mine and get one step closer to ridding myself of this industry and the putrid abortions that thrive off it. Others talk, I accomplish. Jamie stares directly through the camera lens. JAMIE: Why would this time be any different? Cut.
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 Your inevitable disappointment staring you right in your ugly face. |