The scene opens in pitch black. There is no light. After a few moments there is a crackling sound. The sound is much like the sound of a live electrical wire when it is torn and lying on the ground. Another couple of moments and sparks of electricity start to bring light and life into the space we have been brought to. There is a large wrought iron door. It is shut but it starts to slowly open, loud creaking accompanies the movement as a charred gloved hand now grips the door and further pushes it open. First the hand is the only intruder into this dark and intense space. Then slowly an arm, a shoulder and then a complete man. It is Stalker, but anyone new to him may not recognize him. He is wearing a long black jacket, some sort of big fur thing around the neck area. He is also severely burned, and wearing a steampunk phantom mask. His movements are slow and labored. His breathing wheezes, and at times is somewhat haunting in the way it sounds almost hollow at times. He sweeps the rest of the way into the room and moves to a chair. Taking a seat he nods slightly acknowledging the fact that there is a camera set up in the room.
Stalker: “It doesn’t matter where you go Fathi. Management will always see the draw in a figure as dark, and as disturbing as myself. It would seem that unlike the executives in N.C.W. Neela and the management here in S.C.W. see the benefits and professional advances to keeping a monster like me happy. So when I told them I wanted to face you . . . they practically fell all over themselves to offer not only this match. Not only No Disqualification. They added to the match and made it for a chance to become the number one contender for the North American Championship. So not only do I get to squash you in this match. Not only do I get to severely maim and injure you in this match. I get the supreme opportunity to send a message to the entire S.C.W. lockerroom, and most importantly the S.C.W. North American Champion. I am not someone to be taken lightly. I am not one to be looked upon in any way other than with fear. People exist here because I let them, they will see my devastating abilities and bow down at my feet.
Stalker stands and spreads his arms wide. Slowly the sparking cables begin glowing instead of sparking and two of them even lift from the floor infront of Stalker and illuminate him. His face has twisted into an evil smile, as he looks back towards the camera.
Stalker: “Fans fear the unknown. Fans despise those they cannot figure out, those they cannot find a solution to like a riddle they cannot explain, and when they fear something or someone they try to eliminate it. A group of fans after N.C.W. closed down blamed me. They blamed Apocalypse. They blamed Elysia. A group of them came upon me. A few of them carried gas cans. They used these cans to douse me then the lit me on fire. They feared me, they hated Apocalypse, The Foundation, they even hated you Fathi. Not because you were deserving of their hate. Not in the way I would consider someone deserving of it. No they hated you for simply giving up. They hated you because because you gave them hope. Thug Revolution were supposed to be this group of the people. Thug revolution weren’t supposed to play by any rules. But when it came down to it, Thug Revolution fell apart. You lost one man, Brian Kennedy. Then you brought in Stonewall, and yet you still fell apart. You abandoned the woman you fought so hard to keep away from Apocalypse. Then there was nothing left, Thug Revolution died. And the people lost faith. Soon after you needed to find a new home. But the fans hatred goes back even further than that. It goes all the way back to the first N.C.W. shutdown. Apocalypse was devastating. We were doing as we pleased, shy of killing people. Thug Revolution made the fans think that someone could stop us. But no one could. Then it finally happened. We became the demon we claimed to be. We became the source of fear within the lockerroom. It wasn’t until EVERY SINGLE member of the lockerroom came at us as one that anything changed. Yet Thug Revolution STILL had barely anything to do with it. That is when the fans turned on you. Now this match. You talk about growing up on the streets, you talk about no one really knows the fights you’ve been through, or that this somehow makes you untouchable. Well you weren’t a factor the last time someone came close to bringing Apocalypse down. Tell me why you think now will be any different.”
Stalker walks to the outstretched cables and takes them in his hands. He should be being electrified, but he just grins and stands there.
Stalker: “If I stand impervious to electricity, then what makes you think you can even bring a sweat to my brow? What makes you even think you’re WORTHY of being the one who takes from me the opportunity at the North American Championship? I promise you, your words hold less meaning to me than those of a little child having a tantrum because his Mommy won’t carry him to school.”
The scene fades to snow as we can hear the distinct electrical crackle of the cables still in the hands of Stalker.
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