Alley way's and Dean Ambrose were no strangers to each other. The Cincinnati born wrestler grew up ridiculously poor and often times slept in alley's, much like the one he was currently dwelling within in Oklahoma City. But this one wasn't horribly run down or debilitated. The sun was even shining on this breezy, October afternoon. This one would have been like a plush mansion compared to what he was accustomed to. The dumpster was nice and big and he probably could have slept underneath it without worrying about being shanked.
But that was the past. The present was demanding his attention. And there he stood with his back pressed against a wall and a hand running through his uncombed and messy brunette hair. The camera panned around until it was in front of him and he gave the viewer a halfhearted grin.
Dean Ambrose: Hi. I'm Dean Ambrose. And I've got no interviewer.
He spread his arms to display that there was no microphone wielding, suit and tie wearing employee present. His movements were always very strange, jerky and erratic.
Dean Ambrose: Because when I brought Todd Grisham to a slum, to reality, I "put him in danger."
Ambrose scoffed in derision at such a ridiculous notion.
Dean Ambrose: And that's fine. Because I don't want or need one. I'm good on my own. I don't need my nice little head shot picture on the roster page even though I've been here a month and I've done nothing but DISMANTLE everyone I've come across!
An amused look appeared upon his face after his outburst.
Dean Ambrose: Hulk Hogan had his roster page before he even had his first match. And all he's done is talk A WHOLE LOT and drop matches to guy's a foot shorter than him. But it's alright. I'm not Hulk Hogan. I'm the furthest thing from it. I'm not a star craving old man who takes up too much television time and has a insufferable family. Gets to cut fiteen promo's a week about NOTHING of any worth. I'm Dean Ambrose. And Monday night I am going to beat Trent Barreta so badly that he'll never be able to pick up an X-Box controller again. Let alone run his mouth about me.
The lanky frame of Dean Ambrose leaned closer to the camera as he spoke in a biting tone. It didn't matter that Trent Barreta wasn't in front of him. He was in his minds eye.
Dean Ambrose: What's the matter, Trent? Are you and your friends having some problems? Well, look at me. Look at me. Look into my eyes when I tell you this. If Curt Hawkins hadn't stuck his nose in my business? You wouldn't have as many problems. Because Zack Ryder WOULD NOT be walking right now.
Mockingly, he held up his fists and began to pump them like a fan favorite wrestler about to make a come back.
Dean Ambrose: Does that piss you off, Trent? Are you going to dig down deep and make me eat my words? Are you going to punish the "dark, demented, twisted" villain? I've seen your routine, Trent. When you get upset, or something doesn't go your way, or you feel you've been underestimated, you throw in a few cuss words..you sit in a dark spot..fling Michael Cole around..and you pull your hair over your face..
He began to sweep some of his own hair in front of his face, dragging some fingers along the unkempt tresses.
Dean Ambrose: And you bitch and you moan about how no one takes you seriously. Do you know why that is? Because you are a product. A product ready for mass consumption. You smile and you're funny and awkward, weak, insecure fans look up to you because you're everything they want to be. You're the king for these people. You corrupt them every time you open your mouth and spit out some nostalgic ridden, comic book or video game reference. And they look up to you because you actually have a girlfriend! You've been with a woman! And if I didn't know she was a complete mindless robot..I might even actually think she's cute myself. But she is. Just like you. You Trent Barreta, much like your friend Zack Ryder, just like your adorable little girlfriend, pollute the minds or everyone who watches you on television every week. And you know it! You are absolutely aware of it!
He seemed to be growing angrier as he promo went along. He began to pace.
Dean Ambrose: And to prove how tough you are and how you're not some court jester you go out and you have these "hardcore matches" with people like Bully Ray and you go into something as dangerous as an Elimination Chamber and you spring around it like it's some kind of jungle gym. You horrible, rotten, BASTARD! You know exactly what you're doing! They want to imitate you! They want to put their bodies on the line because they think you're what they can be! They're just little puppets to you, aren't they?! How many people have to get hurt? HOW MANY?!
It was never 100% percent clear what Ambrose was referring to when he went on these rants. Was he alluding to his own past or someone else's? No one had been able to get a straight answer from him as of yet.
Dean Ambrose: So I really don't care how long you've held a title or who you've been able to get victories over. This is so much more than this. This is about one man trying to take down a organization so corrupt that it's painfully obvious to anyone that isn't blind. And I'm going to continue with you, Trent. This company's "young, bright, future star". You claim to be ready, Barreta? You're not. I'm not like anyone you've come across before. Because I'm fighting for a purpose. I serve a purpose. You think you left a piece of yourself in the Elimination Chamber? The rest of you is going to be left in chunks all over Oklahoma City when I'm done with you.
After that expression of intent he grinned just momentarily before reverting back to a menacing scowl.
Dean Ambrose: And that isn't my only objective Monday night. Because I'm going to be a part of this whole Intercontinental Title Gauntlet thing. Don't be mistaken. I don't want to be a part of it to continue the rich, illustrious lineage of that title. No. It's just for the fact that I can take out so many birds with one stone. So many participants with blood all over their hands. Hulk Hogan's old, useless ass who is a walking MONUMENT, the living EMBODIMENT of what a "superstar" eventually turns into. A money worshiping corpse that can't stay out of the spotlight until he's embarrassed himself and his entire family! Christian who PLAGUED countless minds by taking part in barbaric TLC matches that set the course for MILLIONS to follow down that destructive path! Rhyno who was apart of ECW, a sick and disgusting blood sport that's influence is still felt to this day! And Kane..do I even have to go on about him? And The Miz. The Champion himself. This smug, arrogant little automaton. A perfect example of someone who was BRAIN WASHED into this lifestyle! Someone who was lured in with fame and fortune and now does the same to the millions that watch his every move!
Now that his impassioned rant was over, Dean Ambrose began to stalk his way out of the alley.
Dean Ambrose: I picked this location for a reason. I don't just hang out in alley's for my health.
He seemed completely motivated at this point. The location of the alley was revealed to be just outside of The Energy Arena where Warfare was set to take place. An autograph signing was met to go down a few hours before the show. A few fans were already lined up in front of a table with a black tarp over it. An EBWF logo was smack dab in the center. A woman dressed in an EBWF polo shirt was going over the rules and simple instructions relating to when the superstars arrived. She didn't get to finish as Ambrose had gripped the table and flipped it over completely. 8x10's went flying into the air. The crowd was more than a little startled to say the least.
Dean Ambrose: Why are you wasting your lives with this? GO HOME! You really want to meet these blood suckers?! They ruin your lives every day and you don't even care!
The crowd was dispersing since it looked as though an insane man had suddenly appeared to wreak havoc. They were severely disappointed but were not about to trifle with someone who looked to be a complete lunatic.
Dean Ambrose: Your children should be taken away from you!
The life-size cardboard cut out of a random superstar was hurled violently into passing traffic causing a few horns to blare. Ambrose continued on his rampage when the camera went black.
