Dean Ambrose: I don't think I understand this place anymore.
Roman Reigns: Syxx isn't your first choice for the main event?
Dean Ambrose: He isn't my second choice. Or third. Or fourth. I mean, yeah, the dudes over because 85% of the audience are meat head, bro types that still think crotch chopping and chanting "WE WANT PUPPIES" during matches is cool. I don't think he's broken down or ancient like some of the guys because he can still put on a good enough match. Fuck, he's fourty one not seventy one. But he seems like a real dick and completely out of touch. For example, do you want to know what one of the first things he tweeted when he came back was? It was either to Lacey or Rain, doesn't matter which one. "You are the most talented Diva on the roster".
Unlike his televised persona, Reigns was capable of showing a wide range of emotion. And the complete look of confusion that currently masked his features was an example of this.
Roman Reigns: The fuck?
Dean Ambrose: Sure, I guess that's true. If you don't count A.J. and Paige. Or Trish. Or Maryse. Or The Beautiful People. Kaitlyn. MsChif. The Ninja's. Take all of them out of the equation and, yeah, one of those two are the best we have to offer. If I had a pair of tits and I worked here that comment would have drove me to kill. Then he goes on his blog and wrote something to the effect of "Those Shield guys are really good workers but they're just a copy of a copy".
Ambrose had sort of been lazily passing the time before this conversation took place. But he was starting to get a little more worked up and speaking with his hands a lot when he began to talk business.
Dean Ambrose: What we're trying to do isn't anything like the nWo. That's why I was so pissed off when they shot that angle where Cena got spray painted. At least we got to do damage control on that one. I was never inspired by them. I know you weren't and Colby sure as hell wasn't either. They were cool for their time, I guess, but this is two completely different animals. But, hey, thanks omnipotent one. I'm glad I've got fuckin' X-Pac's approval of my in ring work because you just know that what I've been waiting for my entire life.
The sarcasm was obvious and thick.
Dean Ambrose: I've already decided I'm laying into that motherfucker in our match.
Ambrose probably felt as though his spot was pretty well solid in the company and he wouldn't get reprimanded too harshly for being stiff. And it wasn't as if he wasn't planning on injuring Waltman. Just roughing him up. But Reigns, a newcomer to the promotion, seemed a little weary of that idea.
Roman Reigns: I don't know, man. He's probably a tough old bastard.
Dean Ambrose: That's fine but he's still getting his receipt for that shit. I don't care how long he's been around or what he's done. If you don't treat me with respect I'll beat some into you. Look down on everyone else but you aren't doing that to me. He's all chummy with Orton and Cena but I'm beneath him? I don't think so.
Most newer talent made sure to shake every hand and "yes sir"ed their way through existence until they got enough pull to do and say as they pleased, within boundaries. But Ambrose had never been that type, even on the indies, and he saw no reason to conform now. He felt that kind of attitude took him to the main event within a matter of months and wasn't about to alter the course.
Dean Ambrose: Everything in wrestling is a copy or draws inspiration from something. For instance, are you aware that Randy Savage straight up stole his promo style and "oh yeah" from King Curtis Iaukea and Pampero Firpo? I mean, he's a complete legend and he popularized it but still. Isn't that what EBWF prides itself on doing with the WWE's ground work?
Reigns chuckled in that low, deep tone of his.
Roman Reigns: Man, do you know who my family is? I know everything about the old school stuff.
Silence filled that section of the arena while Dean stared blankly up towards the ceiling. He was talking to someone with a ridiculously rich wrestling lineage.
Dean Ambrose: Ah. That's right. You're apparently related to anyone with any percentage of Samoan DNA who has ever stepped into a ring. Anyway, I hear people talk. "He's trying to be Heath Ledger" or "He's trying to be Brian Kendrick". "They're trying to be the nWo". Heath Ledger's performance as Joker is only one of the most iconic in recent cinema. It's not my fault everyone else was too stupid to draw anything from it. I mean, Syxx's act is every indy guy's first gimmick from 2002. Orton's been doing the same..
As best he could, he mimicked Randy Orton's cold, methodical sort of promo style and even narrowed his eyes in the same, steely sort of manner.
Dean Ambrose: .."R..K..O. Punt..you..in the skull.." thing since, like, 2010 with no alterations.
A sigh. He felt a rant coming on. One of the many reasons he kept himself away from twitter so these thoughts wouldn't get broadcasted to anyone who didn't deserve to hear them.
Dean Ambrose: Everyone here is out for themselves. The point, or I thought, of this whole thing is to make the company as big as it can be. Zero unity. No one encourages each other unless you're a part of that Cena, Syxx, Orton circlejerk. Did you hear that Claudio got a standing ovation backstage after his match on RAW? That ain't ever gonna happen here. Syxx is on his little blog writing how "I must become World Champion. Nothing else will do". ..You know, instead of, "Man, these Shield kids are really hot right now. I would love to work with them and elevate everybody and use my experience for some good." I know everyone wants to be World Champion and help carry the company, but, fuck..greedy bunch of bastards. Notice I said HELP CARRY. It's not a one man or woman show. This is supposed to be a team.
Roman Reigns: I agree with you. The top guys aren't anything without a strong midcard. If the top guy is making money and getting fed then the crowds are bigger and we're all getting paid more. But this must be how the big leagues are.
Was that the case? This was the champ's very first exposure to a huge, national audience. Reigns as well. Ambrose had developed a cult following as Jon Moxley in the gory promotion CZW and heard horror stories about the major companies but this was his first taste of it. It all sounded so stupid to him and it was apparent that he was growing angry.
Dean Ambrose: Fuck that! It's pro wrestling! This is the best but dumbest job on the planet! All the guys my age bitch about not getting opportunities like the world's going to end tomorrow. I guess I kind of see their side when Syxx shows up and looks down on them. Everyone that was around before us kept this place growing for the six years he was gone. But still. Do you know how many guys on the indies or even fans would kill to have their jobs? Then all the higher paid guys moan about how they've had to put people over. I bet you Randy Orton or Edge make more than TNA's entire roster. EASY. Go to your mansions and fuck your hot wife or girlfriend.
An exhale followed by a sigh. This place had given him so much and such a little time and put a lot of faith into him. But what was the point if you weren't having fun and everyone around you were all self seeking egotists.
Dean Ambrose: They need to take a good chunk of this roster and have them wrestle in front of fifty people for one hundred dollars in an envelope WHILE being stabbed with glass and barbed wire like I was a year and a half ago. Maybe they might appreciate their jobs a little more. Pro wrestling doesn't owe them anything. THEY owe pro wrestling. And--Who the FUCK keeps calling me?
Airing out his work place issues halted as Ambrose sat up and stared at his phone with contempt. A number was flashing on it. One he had seen for weeks now. Roman leaned over to take a look at the screen and his eyes grew slightly larger. It was a phone number he knew very well from the past.
Roman Reigns: You don't know remember who that is?
Dean Ambrose: No. I keep sending it to voice mail and they never leave anything.
Roman Reigns: That's Connecticut. Vince.
So the rumors were true. McMahon was out poaching potential signee's for his company while the EBWF's talent were in a state of disarray and in-fighting. And now he was knocking loudly at the World Champion's door.
Some time during the week leading up to Sacrifice, the World Champion had decided to meet with the man who had created the WWE: Vince McMahon. Direct rival to the company that he currently represented. He had told no one but Rollins and Reigns. They met at an insanely expensive restaurant and dinner was all on the CEO's dime. Silk curtains, hand written menu's and pale pink tablecloths decorated with moss, twigs and exotic flowers. Vince was in a power suit not anything as colorful or boisterous as something his TV character might wear which somewhat disappointed Ambrose as he figured he really dressed this way in real life. But he was in pretty good shape for a guy who was damn near seventy. Ambrose tossed on a black, button up dress shirt, threw on a blue tie and ate the overpriced free meal. The two waited until dinner was finish to get down to business.
Vince McMahon: Now I'm sure you are well aware that this talk is only preliminary. I don't know the details of your contract but I'm going to assume that it wasn't a very long one. Judging by how you were introduced and how suddenly you rose up the card..
Ambrose didn't acknowledge or deny the claim. He wasn't about to show his hand.
Vince McMahon: You're not the first person on your roster that I've spoken to. I understand that there is some inner turmoil going on with the talent. You're matched with Waltman at the main event, right?
Dean Ambrose: Right.
Vince McMahon: Do you believe that's who your opponent should be?
Dean Ambrose: No. I think I should be wrestling Orton or Cena.
Vince McMahon: Do you know if you're going over or not?
Dean Ambrose: I've heard different scenario's but nothing's concrete.
Vince McMahon: What about Cena and Orton? How well do you know them?
Dean Ambrose: I've worked a main event tag with Orton but all the talk was just going over the match. Cena seems alright but we've only been building a program between him and myself. Don't know 'em. But those are the two I should be working with right now.
Vince only nodded and took a moment to let the information sink in.
Vince McMahon: Would you like to know how a match between yourself and Sean Waltman would go in my company?
An interesting question. Again, the World Title holder stayed silent and only nodded but was curious about what the answer would be.
Vince McMahon: Eight minutes tops with you going over on an episode of RAW. Sean Waltman is not someone I would utilize at the top of the card. I would use him as a trainer at NXT or a backstage agent. Well, you know, if that attitude wasn't present.
Dean Ambrose: He's a dick.
McMahon erupted with one of his loud, hollow, booming laughs.
Vince McMahon: Oh, I know him very well. Could I market him? Of course I could. But we're currently invested in PG programming. "Fuck Everything" isn't a brand we can get behind. I've heard he isn't exactly making new friends since his return. You see, in the WWE we pride ourselves on being a family. We live and die as a team. That's the mindset we have. You have some friends that work for me that would love to see you jump ship. Antonio Cesaro spoke very highly of you. Now, I'll admit when I'm wrong, and I was very wrong about that young man. The match he put on last week was so good that I joined in with the rest of the team and gave him a standing ovation when he came backstage.
That confirmed the rumor. Cesaro, a friend from the indies, was getting respected over there and his talents were appreciated by the boys. He was being treated and revered exactly as he should. It did sound like a far less poison environment. It was also interesting that Vince was almost exactly mirroring the sentiments that Ambrose had described to his stablemate earlier.
Vince McMahon: My door is always open and I'm always open to suggestion. But, ultimately, my decision is final. An attitude like Waltman's would not fly. I run a very tight shift you understand. Someone like that would be shown the door or end up jobbing to Alex Riley and Yoshi Tatsu on Superstar's for months.
Again, Vince was painting a very nice picture and Dean was beginning to think that perhaps the grass was greener on the other side.
Vince McMahon: What is your relationship with Wes?
Dean Ambrose: Right around the time I showed up the shooting happened and he was gone. So we don't really have a relationship.
Vince was smirking internally. Wes was a charismatic leader and with him out of the picture, he would have no influence over Ambrose's decision to stay or go as long as he was on sabbatical.
Vince McMahon: I see. What about Chris?
Dean Ambrose: I don't have a problem with Chris. I think he's doing the best job he can. I sure as hell couldn't do it. But he would probably admit that this isn't a job he's completely prepared for.
Vince McMahon: I would agree. You have to have a leader with a clear vision. Can I tell you my vision for you in the WWE?
Dean Ambrose: What are you going to be able to do for me, Vince? I've main evented pay per views. I've main evented WrestleMania. I'm a part of the program even when I'm not on the show. I don't know too many guys who have had a rise as quickly as mine. I've been treated pretty good.
Vince grinned. He had been waiting for this moment.
Vince McMahon: I'm glad you asked. I know you're travel buddies with the Anoa'i kid and the young man going by "Seth Rollins". I want them too.
It seemed likely that if Dean split that Rollins and Reigns wouldn't be far behind. Who knows how well they would fare without The Shield banner. And since the three of them had already bonded it would be nice to have them along for the ride.
Vince McMahon: Antonio Cesaro is a friend of yours. You want to work with him? You've got it. There's another kid we've just signed by the name of Sami Callihan. I know you to are close. You want him called up so he can be on the road with you? I'll make it happen.
Jon Moxley and Sami Callihan were a tag team known as The Switchblade Conspiracy. Vince was doing everything he could to get Ambrose over on his side. Callihan was one of his best friends and hanging out with him regularly again would be more than welcome.
Dean Ambrose: I'm listening.
Vince McMahon: Now, as I said, we're PG programming. But with you, we want you to have an edge. Something that makes you stand out. You will have bullet points but we'll let your promo's go unfiltered as long as there isn't any harsh language.
Dean Ambrose: Keep going.
Vince McMahon: This is what I'm picturing. We bring you in and you tear straight through Sheamus, Mark Henry and Ryback. The Undertaker has a very prolific streak at our WrestleMania's as I'm sure you're well aware. You end that streak.
Vince was really dangling the carrot now and it was becoming more difficult to resist the temptation. He wanted him to be the man to retire The Undertaker? It was almost becoming unreal.
Vince McMahon: Finally we get you into some matches with Brock Lesnar and at that point we've legitimized you. Then we have you, Rollins and Reigns feuding with one another on top. I'm seeing a new boom period with you three. You want a movie? We have a film division. You can have one.
How much of this was true and how would he have any way of knowing? Could he possibly even come close to fulfilling all of these promises? Something seemed off. Very off. There was something lingering in the back of his mind.
Dean Ambrose: I should have never stepped foot in your developmental system. Not even for a second.
Vince McMahon: Developmental? How long ago were you in our developmental? In your early twenties? You must--
That's what was amiss. Vince was notorious for being fairly out of touch and this was proof. He didn't even remember that the EBWF's World Champion was at one point on his payroll and being squandered in FCW/NXT. He only wanted him because what he had managed to accomplish in the EBWF. He wanted the star EBWF had created. Ambrose cut the chairman off.
Dean Ambrose: No. Not years ago. One year ago. I was there. So was Rollins and Reigns. You had all three of us. Rollins and myself asked for our releases at the same time after we were told there were no plans to bring us up to the main roster and you let us go. Reigns asked for his release after that. You refused to make eye contact with me when we first met. Like I was beneath you.
Vince was cursing up a storm in his mind. Someone was surely going to be fired for not informing him that the entire Shield was once a part of the WWE and not even that ago. But perhaps that was information he should have already known.
Vince McMahon: Ah. Well, you'll have to--
Fake. Completely fake. There was no reason to talk anymore. Whatever Vince was about to say next was cut off as the glass of water Ambrose had used to finish off his meal was tossed into McMahon's face. The water dripped from his wrinkled features and his eyes were wide with shock. But he began to grin and shifted into a sales pitch.
Vince McMahon: Yes that's exactly what I'm looking for! Loose cannon! RIght there!
Ambrose stared blankly with a "are you shitting me?" type of look. He was either an idiot or really thought he was performing some kind of character routine for him. So, he tossed Vince's glass of water into his face as well. That sort of spelled it out for him. That anger that his "Mr.McMahon" character had displayed so many times was forming in his furrowed brow and growling voice.
Vince McMahon: God damn you. Do you know who I am? I'll have you black balled from this industry.
The EBWF Champion slammed his palms onto the table and half grinned, half sneered back in his face.
Dean Ambrose: Tell Cesaro and Sami I said hello.
He left the restaurant thinking he had either done the best thing for his career or the absolute dumbest. A little bit of regret and vindication at the same time. He pulled out his cell phone.
Seth Rollins: What's up?
Dean Ambrose: I just did something really stupid.
Seth Rollins: Whoa. What? Did you agree to anything?
Dean Ambrose: No. I'm pretty sure I'm EBWF for life at this point..
Jonathan Good had just experienced a life altering moment. The course of his life had just taken a drastic turn.
Red and nothing but red. The violent color was all that could be seen as if the lens had been washed in a sea of it. But eventually vague human features could be made out underneath all of the internal body fluid. A pair of eyes and a mouth that was making slow gasps of air like a fish deprived of water.
..I had really hoped this could have been avoided..
A familiar, jagged, broken voice narrated the visual. The camera had panned backwards enough to determine that this blood soaked figure was a male. He didn't have any hair so all that vital liquid covered his entire head like some kind of mask. It had even begin making it's way onto his bare chest and the droplets were slowly trickling downwards.
Dean Ambrose: I don't blame you for this. It isn't your fault. You've been twisted by your upbringing and everyone who surrounds you..
A locker room. But it was much too small to be confused for an arena where an EBWF event might take place. It lacked the accoutrements of a big time production. It was only a gymnasium where young or upcoming wrestlers learned their craft or old-timers came to make a quick buck from nostalgic fnas. A pair of black boots stood over the blood soaked figure who writhed about on his back, desperately trying to sit up. All that will, however, had been severely beaten out of him.
Dean Ambrose: Cody.
Cody Hall. The son of Scott Hall. He may have been unrecognizable in his current state. He shared the same build as his notorious and well known father, minus the abundance of chest hair. A young man in his very early twenties. Tall and fit. 6'8'' to be exact. The black trunks he wore had a design that resembled blood, a tribute to his father who often wore similar styled ring gear, were now very ironic given his current situation. This was not Arkansas or the Verizon Arena. It was Atlanta Georgia. Cody's father to this day battles a well known struggle with drugs and alcohol and had put forth a great effort to finally fight off his demons by moving into the home of Diamond Dallas Page. The former WCW World Champion had become something of a fitness guru and had done his best to get the elder Hall on the straight and narrow path with startling results. Scott Hall, who many assumed would succumb to his vices, had improved dramatically and looked his best in years.
His son was beginning his fledgling wrestling career and took bookings around the Atlanta area with his father serving as a manager and side attraction. After a successful performance in front of a small but lively audience, Cody returned to the locker room. But to his great surprise he discovered that everyone else on the card was nowhere to be found. Members of The Shield swarmed the school and put it on lock down. Cody was trapped inside the locker room with Dean Ambrose and he had no means of escape. He was all alone and men in black guarded every exit and entrance. Presumably, he was approached by Ambrose and things quickly went sour which led to his current predicament. Young Hall did at least have one small thing to be thankful for. His father had not attended this particular show and was able to avoid a similar fate. Whatever kind of beating he had taken must have been harsh. If looking at him wasn't a sure enough sign, the fact that he couldn't even sit up hammered it home. Ambrose had knelt down in front of him and was mindful to avoid the growing puddle of blood forming from Cody's wounded forehead.
Dean Ambrose: I'm sorry. You won't believe me but I truly am. I didn't want this to happen to you but despite every thing working against you..you are still accountable for your own actions. Even after all the horrors you father has committed you selfishly still want to become a wrestler. I truly hope that what you're experiencing right now will change your life. After all, my life was altered beyond my control and I got stronger because of it. I discovered a purpose.
Ambrose dropped down onto his hands and knee's to draw himself closer to the blood soaked face of the aspiring wrestler he had assaulted through unknown means. Cody's fondest desire at this moment was to punch Ambrose's face off. But his vision was blurry and the respectful kid who wanted to soak up all he could about pro wrestling was in over his head.
Dean Ambrose: Can you hear me? I said I discovered a purpose and a meaning. That has to be a foreign concept for you. One one of your biggest influences, a root to a lot of your problems, lives his life through a shitty nu-metal song. This had to happen to you. I am going to be more of an influence on your life than your Uncle Waltman could ever dream of being.
Ambrose's teeth were gritted and his messy hair hung in front of his face as he sneered at the wreck of a man in front of him. There was a glint of a glare in Cody's eyes but it was difficult to tell. Ambrose slid his hands in front of his mouth like a storyteller about to weave a tale about a "cold, stormy night."
Dean Ambrose: Oh. I'm sorry. Forgive me. I meant to call him "Syxx". Because I'm apparently disrespecting the business, HIS business by using his real name. His real name that everyone already knows and anyone with an internet connection can find out. I guess he gets off on insulting his brain washed audience. I have a few questions for you, Cody. Just a few small questions. Is he aware of who I am and what I stand for? Is he not aware that I HATE "his business" and everything IT stands for? I mean, I think I've made that perfectly clear these past few months. Look. I'll prove it. This?
The leader of The Shield pushed himself to his feet and snatched the World Title from off of a bench. Some what fittingly, it appeared to have lost some of it's shine while being held captive by Ambrose. He held it up in front of his face, cleared his throat, and proceeded to spit right on it's golden but tarnished face plate.
Dean Ambrose: It doesn't mean anything to me. Nothing at all. You want it? Here. Take it.
The title was tossed down onto Cody's waist were it roughly remained slumped against his torso.
Dean Ambrose: Question number two. How did "Uncle Syxx" get here? I don't mean his conception. I'm asking you how he managed to find his way into this decade because it's painfully obvious that that last ten years or so have passed him right by. Was he hanging out with Fred Durst and Jonathan Davis in 1999 and somehow stumbled into a time machine that sent him into this year? I'm never seen such a wannabe, hackneyed platitudinous forced "rebel" in my entire life. Also, really nice touch that the "FUCK" on his "FUCK EVERYTHING" t-shirts are neatly censored so as to not offend too much but still nice and edgy enough for high school students to wear. Was "I Did It All For The Nookie" copyrighted already?
Once more he lowered closer to Cody's face. He knew very well that the spawn of the man who once called himself Razor Ramon was in no condition to respond or put forth any resistance. He gripped Cody by his chin so he was forced to stare into his eyes.
Dean Ambrose: That is precisely what he is. An angsty slogan on the back of a high school kids Slipknot t-shirt. Manufactured and ready for consumption. This is someone you follow. This is someone you love and treat as if he were your family. What is wrong with you? Everything he stands for, everything about him, sickens and repulses me. I've always been a little over sensitive to the glorification and rewarding of dumb. You are evidence that promoting someone like SYXX will corrupt the young, impressionable and stupid.
Ambrose removed the black glove he was wearing that was now smeared with blood after releasing Cody's chin. He tossed it across the room where it splatted against a wall and quickly slid down in a heap.
Dean Ambrose: Question number three. Are you aware that Uncles Syxx just loves to smoke weed? It would be pretty impossible not to since he only mentions it on his twitter every hour. How does that make you feel? Does that make you think he's cool? It should make you lose respect for him, Cody. Do you want to know why? I'm not CM Punk and I'm not Straight Edge. But I would have enough respect not to rub my little habits in the face of recovering addict!
He screamed into Cody's face while the blood from his chest trickled down onto the World Title. Cody tried with all he could to get up but it was a futile effort.
Dean Ambrose: Ask your father how it makes him feel. Ask Daddy. Your Uncle Syxx gloats and brags about all the weed he smokes and all the hard drugs he used to do while your father SUFFERS. Uncle Syxx is main eventing pay per views and your poor, disgraced father is scraping the bottom of the barrel and trying to somehow put his life back together. When he reads these things does that temptation ever come back? Does he ever feel like running to a bottle of pills or Jack Daniels?
Cody managed to finally almost sit up as his fathers problems were ran down and the man he was close enough to refer to as an uncle was portrayed as monster. But, almost as if he had expected this topic to stir something up inside of him, Ambrose gave Cody a sharp kick to the gut that forced him right back down. He winced in audible pain and gasped.
Dean Ambrose: Not that your father is some kind of innocent. Far from it. Your dad should be DEAD right now and, as a matter of fact, he DESERVES to die. His pissed his life, his reputation, his dignity away and then..
As angry as Cody may have been, Ambrose's own rage was growing all the more intense. His fists were clenched and each word was practically spat out.
Dean Ambrose: ..And then..he has the audacity to ask complete and total strangers to save his life. To pay for his surgery so he can work out and fail at another attempt at becoming something resembling a human being. That is wrong, CODY! Your father is going to burn in hell and Uncle Syxx is going to fry right along with him! Uncle Syxx is just "so proud of Scott's progress".
A nauseating feeling. Enough to make him want to vomit. Scott Hall needed hip replacement in order to begin his work outs and this was accomplished by donations from generous fans.
Dean Ambrose: Revolting. I hope I'm never so lowly as to BEG fans to give me money for the decisions I made in my life! And, hey, maybe after seeing this Daddy will jump back on the wagon and do us all a favor and DIE! Ooh, you're going to be all alone kid. Because after I'm done with Uncle Syxx he's going to need a kickstarter of his own to pay for all the injuries I so deservedly inflict upon him.
Ambrose slumped down to a sitting position and wrapped his fingers around the edge of his boots. He gave the bloody mess a few short inches away a long stare.
Dean Ambrose: This isn't easy for me. I know you're suffering right now but so am I. Just last week I had to sit through two droning, monotonous "wrasslin promo's" from your Uncle and John Cena. I was called a "little bitch", "one-nuted", and a "rat face".
He rubbed a palm along the side of his head in exasperation. Not out of fright or apprehension. But due to the less than razor sharp with used to insult him.
Dean Ambrose: Such harsh, fifth grade insults. Cena said something about filling my house with rabid squirrels and Syxx did his usual "BACK THE FUCK UP AND SAY IT TO MY FACE, BRO" routine.
He imitated a douchey, overly aggro fan at a metal show in both voice and posture. It was also apparent that John Cena's cartoonish threats had done little to unnerve him.
Dean Ambrose: Do you know how exhausting it is listen to empty threats again and again and again? From two men who swore up and down that they would become King of the Ring and couldn't come close to getting the job down? I don't really know much about that because I've always accomplished everything I've ever sat out to do. Look it up when..you know..you stop bleeding out. The worst part about the whole thing is that both of them started singing the praises of Randy Orton, kissing his ass and becoming full fledged members of his Fanclub. You know the guy that STOMPED BOTH OF THEIR ASSES. I didn't realize losing a match to Randy Orton made you become one of his cheerleaders. Cena has failed time after time and the only reason Syxx has this match is because..
He paused and smacked his lips, very lizard like while his eyes quickly shifted about while hoping an answer would come to him. Alas, he could find no suitable reason.
Dean Ambrose: ..I have no idea why he has this match. He's a 41 year old man who claims to be in his prime despite the fact that, by his own admission, he's lived a life of heavy drug use. He's broken his neck and he's had years of punishment from being tossed around by much, much larger men. He's desperate and grasping for straws. He's even playing that "turn the lackies against the leader" card. The only problem being that these men aren't my lackies and this is not a cult. I've never sought anyone out. Everyone who is here is here because they want to be and we all have our own reasons for wanting to bring down everything Ikeda has ever created. I've never had to pre-program anyone.
After spreading out his fingers he held out his hand which was locked and frozen in place. Unwavering without even the slightest quiver.
Dean Ambrose: Look at this. Does it look like it's shaking to you? It's not. It never is. You are at the moment..
Cody's right hand was lifted off the floor and trembling like a twig in a thunder storm. A volatile mix of anger, fear and desperation.
Dean Ambrose: ..but I'm not. I'm not afraid. Never have been, never will be. I've already beaten the "Best In The World" so to think I'm not up to the challenge of some washed up hasbeen who is stranded in another century and couldn't even become World Champion in his younger days is a bad joke. It wasn't even that hard! Only took a few months! How many years has he been trying? How many DECADES? What a sad, pitiful loser. I'm not intimidated by someone who spent the majority of his career pointing at his dick and sticking his tongue out. I'm twenty seven years old and THIS is what being in your prime looks like.
The confident smirk on The World's Champion's face slowly began to falter. Nothing had suddenly happened to shake his self-assured demeanor but a heavy sigh left his chest. Something had caused him to reminisce and he appeared surprisingly lucid.
Dean Ambrose: I do have a regret. Waltman has a kid. A daughter. I know better than anyone what it's like to lose someone that means the world to you. Sean's daughter probably thinks he's a pretty good human being. She is going to have to watch her father be beaten into an unrecognizable pulp. I know what the sound of a kid trying to scream your name for any kind of help sounds like. I'm glad she won't be in the building because I am going to do horrible, gut wrenching things to her father. It wouldn't stop me but it might make me hesitate for a split second and I cant afford to do that. This is a cold, harsh world and sometimes even the innocent have to suffer..
Although not nearly as crestfallen as he had appeared a few short moments ago, he still seemed to be in a clearer space of mind as opposed to his near insane tirade he went through for the majority of the promo.
Dean Ambrose: All of this is getting old but I'll keep playing this little game for now. I'll run through Waltman, Orton and Cena and all of this tireless effort will have payed off. Because if Wes Ikeda doesn't come out of hiding and put an end to all of this..I'll force him to show his face.
Ambrose rose and stared down at the withering mortified and blood covered young man at his feet. He was neither malicious or sympathetic to the sight. He simply observed it and snatched the World Title from off of Cody's torso and back over his shoulder.
Dean Ambrose: Justice finds your Uncle Sunday night and he's going to pay for all the pain and destruction he's caused. I've had my life altering moment, you just had yours and now it's his turn. Believe.
It was at this point that Cody completely lost all consciousness. The course of his life had just taken a drastic turn.
