[A switch is heard being flipped.]

[A burst of light explodes from above, showering this limbo with it's shining rays.]

[The limbo isn't really a limbo at all, nor a void, not even a nothing, it's in fact quite something.]

[DEFIANCE's Promo Booth, made famous by the World Champion of COOL his dam.. err.. COOL self.]

[You can tell because of the general stench of Chief COOL Runnings favorite past time.]

[And that sweet plastic fern and the now, not so new, DEFIANCE banner in red with white lettering.]

[However, this is not Senor COOL's time for confession.]

[With a cough and grumble, a duffle bag flies through and crashes to the floor before a chair swings into frame followed by DEFIANCE's very own Negro Deity.]

[Walker spins and plants the chair down, taking his seat A.C. Slater style as he rests against the back of the chair.]

[Reaching over he fumbles through his duffle before procuring a two liter of Grape Crush soda. A hard twist proceeds a deep chug of the favorite drink of many a dark skinned folk in these States of MURICA!]

[Chugging along, literally and figuratively.]

[Having had his refreshment, he screws the cap back on and sets the bottle of purple soda liquid down upon the floor.]

[And. here.. we... go....]

TYRONE WALKER:
Sup y'all, I realized that until now I ain't never done been to this here booth, though I can tell one COOL mothafucka has spent many a time in this fine establishment. It leaves this joint wit' such a nice, calming, high quality of air for everyone to enjoy, so thanks for that, COOL.

Anyway.

I'm actually here for a reason.

An' yeah, that reason would be ASCENSION. An' it would have everything to do wit' my boy, Chris an' the oncoming storm that is our long awaited confrontation. Can you believe it's been some ten years in the making?

The thing is, I was sittin’ at home, gettin' all'a the R-an'-R that an' ol' ass mothafucka like myself can soak in, 'cause I fully expect to make this match count for everything that can possibly be counted for. An' I know Chris is doin' the same thing, y'know, more or less, being all super white guy an' shit, right?

But to do that, means I'mma have to allow myself to die to exorcise every last bit'a demon that still haunts my very existence 'cause of some shit that happened more than a decade ago.

So yeah.

Point bein', it occured to me that in all'a this time that has passed on by, I've never tol' anyone my side in all'a this.

[Snorting in a deep inhale, he lets out a sharp exhale and then another, shorter inhale.]

Lemme start off by sayin' that when this all went down, I was barely anybody, shoot, I wasn't ready to be World Champion. I can admit this stuff to myself, outloud, an' to all'a you bastards watchin' in on this.

Truth is.

I was jus' a young buck bumble fuckin' aroun' thinkin' I was the best 'cause I was rulin' Florida wit' the my boy Stevie, Kelly, an' my brotha Joe. It was simply my turn when Widowmaker was makin' the roun's as the NWA World Champion.

An' I was amped up for this.

Jus' like anybody who has ever givin' an ounce of damn to this whore of a sport. It was my turn an' I was gonna prove all'a them wrong, that I was in the same class as Stevie, as Joe, as Adam Riggs man, even cut from the same cloth as that sumbitch, Mike Bell. It was my mothafuckin' time an' I was gonna finally step into the same club as all'a them who strapped that belt aroun' their waists.

I was convinced.

I believed.

I knew.

That I was gonna do this. I was gonna become the NWA World Heavyweight Champion. All I had to do was beat some giant freak in an S&M getup to claim my seat in this mythical club of World Champions at a table that seated Siva the Warior, Robert Stevens and Boog-Man.

An' then I did.

Sure. Some bullshit went down before I got the three count, Christian Light showed up wit' a mothafuckin' army of niggas to murder this fool over an issue I had nothin' to do wit', let alone even knew what the hell the details were. Nor did I give one good fuck about any of that.

Hell, I didn't even know who Christian Light was.

[Pausing, he raises a hand as if correcting himself.]

I mean.

Yeah, I had heard of him, he was the latest hot shot to come in an' win the World Title. I saw his name on flyers, heard it on commercials, picked up chatter about some dude makin' all sorts'a noise up in Canuckada. But, I didn't know him, not as a man, not as a person, certainly not as the friend that I know today.

I was so jacked up, man, I mean they haven't even invented a word for how happy I was when that referees hand hit the mat for a third time. It didn't matter that Widowmaker probably would have killed me, figuratively or not, that big leather clad bastard put the hurtin' on me like I had never known before.

An' this nigga here won the King of the Death Match a year ago.

It didn't matter to me that Light and his horde of pre-DEFIANCE Era Good Fighters had probably saved my ass from an early retirement. Hell, who am I to turn down a free pass AN' the World Title?

[A scoff.]

Sheeeeit.

I'd've taken that deal everyday of the goddamn week an' as many times a day as they'd've allowed me to get away with takin' it. Jus' gimmie all'a that mothafuckin' gold, nigga, 'cause that's what I'm here for, y'know?

[That obligatory "but" heading our way.]

Heh.

Guess that fat bitch named Karma caught me red handed on the first try. 'Cause I didn't even have an hour to take in the fact that I was now the National Wrestling Alliance's World Heavyweight Champion. Needless to say, I hadn't even had the chance to consider who'd be the first in line to try an' take that strap off'a me, let alone even thought about what the hell was I going to do when I had to actually leave Florida an' actually be the champion of an entire world.

[The smirk and usual face of being laid back and cool that Ty wears dissolves.]

Luckily for me, the NWA took care of all those mothafuckin' problems for me.

[Hurt. Anger. Temper. Enmity.]

Didn't they?

[Nodding his affirmative.]

Sure did, 'cause not even an hour later that mothafucka Charles Fraga called me after the show had went off the air an' dropped the fuckin' hammer on my life an' career. Y'see, apparently 'cause of all'a the chaos an' whatever other bullshit excuse they could come up wit', they stripped me of the title, jus' took that shit away before I could even realize that I had "did it."

Truth is.

They didn't like me.

They didn't like John McGraw.

They absolutely hated Championship Wrestling from Florida.

They hated that we we're doin' shit that the people wanted to see an' while we were at it? We were doin' all'a the shit the likes of IWA were doin' an' doin' it better, maybe not cleaner, definitely not safer, but we was all wildin' out an' settin' everywhere we went on fire an' everyone who came to see it loved every minute of it. We didn't fit into their image of what they wanted, nevermind all those times that the strap had been won an' lost because of bullshit. Y'know, like that time I cost my best friend, Stephen Greer, the world title. Wasn't nothin' 'bout Apollo gettin' his victory yanked 'cause the champion got fucked over.

But, whatever, heh.

[Exhaling. He reaches down for another chug of his soda.]

["Like A Virgin" is heard from his duffle. Ty snickers, knowing who's calling.]

[Cut to Angus during his search for Eric Dane.]

[Back to Ty, who now has the phone in hand.]

Busy, go away.

[He stows his cell back into the bag, but not before he switches the volume off.]

[For only a moment he considers if it could be important. Deciding it's not, he continues onward.]

[At least he looked at the phone this time.]

An' wit' all'a that said an' done, we get to Christian Light.

[He takes another chug from the bottle and then sets it aside.]

I went into a deep darkness after all'a that bullshit went down an' before long I was outta the NWA entirely, it'd've been immediately, but I was loyal to John an' I wasn't gonna bail on him like that... 'Sides I was still the Champion of Florida an' I wasn't gonna disrespect John, the fans, or any of those mothafuckas that I had lived an' died wit'. I wasn't gonna be the NWA's bitch any more than I already was, so fuck 'em.

An' that left me with nothin' but anger for Christian Light.

Anger that I kept bottled up an' all to my lonesome. Pain that I let infect my mind an' hollow out my soul.

I hated you, Chris.

Like niggas an' po'lice, I hated you an' didn't know a goddamn thing about you.

An' all'a that festered when I was outta the game. Lost my strap to Kid Capricorn an' then peace outted this mothafuckin' whore of'a business. I had nothin' but time to think about all'a this an' enough money to keep me fucked up an' pissed off wit' nowhere to go except to the nearest place that I could get whatever I could get my hands on to not give a fuck about any of this bullshit.

It didn't work, but I sure gave it the ol' college try to join the 27 club*.

[Exhale. It's one of relief. This is all something that he's never really gotten off of his chest. Now he has.]

Then I met you.

You jumped over to the WWA, joining ACW, an' I'm not sure, but I think you saved my ass from Mike Bell tryin' to do his worst to me. I dunno what it was about you, Chris, but you stood there, you stuck aroun' after, hangin' wit' me an' Stevie an' gettin' nothin' from me but a quiet fury that manifested itself as a barely civil contempt. I'd've jus' fuckin' bailed on that bullshit if I was in your place.

But goddamn, wouldn't y'know'it?

I found myself lettin' it go bit by bit, 'cause you kept provin' yourself to be a solid mothafucka an' all aroun' good dude. Then I finally went ahead an' looked you up, 'cause until then I was jus' fine wantin' you to die in the worst possible ways imaginable. I didn't know what Widowmaker had done to you, to your woman, to your friends, I didn't know an' I didn't want to know, but when I did? When I learned a lil' bit about you?

I got it.

I understood why you did what you did. It'd didn't make up for what happened, but I didn't hate you, I jus' understood that if it had been me? I'd've prolly done the same thing, so the way I started to see it, I couldn't hold on to hate for someone who was only doin' what he was forced into doin' 'cause some big freak bastard fucked wit' his family.

So I moved on.

I forgave you, after a while I even accepted your friendship an' offered my own in return. I might not have come out an' said it or anything, but I think it was pretty obvious when I wasn't always bein'a horribly raggin' bitch towards you at any givin' moment. I'm subtle like that an' shit... or something.

An' I'd say the last, however many, years have been good.

End of the day, ain't that all that really matters?

[Shrugs. Shoulders and brows. Also takes another chug, the bottle almost empty at this point.]

So that leaves Ascension.

Where the only objective is to finally bury this hatchet once an' for all.

Needless to say, I wanna win, an' I'mma kill myself if that's what it'll take to beat you. 'Cause I been waitin' ten plus years for this match an' that's exactly what you're gonna have to do to put me away. I may've went an' forgot about it for a while, but now that we're days away? You better believe there's no level of pain that'll make me give it up, even if that means you gotta retire me.

I won't quit, I'll find a way to kick out, get a shoulder up, keep my arms from fallin', my mind from blackin' out, I'll keep risin' up like Jason Vorhees on your ass an' findin' some way, some how to attack, to hurt, to destroy, to finish. I ain't lookin' to kill you, Chris, I'm lookin' to utterly fuck up our backstory once an' for all. An' you know why? 'Cause when this is all said an' done, I ain't never lookin' back on this again.

You just happen to be the poor bastard that gets to take the beatin' that I plan to put us both through.

So yeah. That's the score. You need a reason from me for this fight? A motivation if you will? There you go. An' yeah, if possible I'mma walk outta the Superdome wit' another World Champions name etched on my own personal wall of glory. There's a really nice spot picked out for you, right next Heidi Christensen's, don't mind her though, she jus' seems to always be on the rag, wit' her constant bitchin' about that serious business wrestler agenda of her's an' shit. Jus' drown it out, it's what the rest of us do.

[Out.]



* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_Club

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