Breaking The Silence... Before I Break YOU

Scene fades in with a pale, sickly light. In the background, the faint sound of chains rattling can be heard. As the camera slowly pans over, the sound grows louder and the chains come into view. Upon closer scrutiny, a red, viscous substance can be seen running down the links in a lazy trail. From out of frame, a hollow, guttural voice rings out.

Voice: We have such sights to show you…

All of a sudden, the scene freezes. The trail of red fluid halts in place as a familiar voice makes its presence known.

Ian: Gods, I fucking love this movie.

The camera pans over to the right, showing that the previous scene that was being shown was being played on an enormous television. Next to the TV, we see Ian standing next to a pedestal, on which sets a wooden puzzle box gilded in gold leaf. On the wall behind him we can see a plethora of horror movie posters and other pieces of art. Ian places a remote control on a nearby table before gently picking up the puzzle box.

Ian: Have you ever seen the “Hellraiser” series of movies, Payne? If you haven’t, pay particular attention to the third and fourth in the series. In those films, we gain insight into what the Lament Configuration truly is….

Ian takes a moment to gaze down at the box in his hand before holding it up closer to the camera lens.

Ian: To spare you the effort of actually having to exercise your brain, I’ll explain….

The Lament Configuration was devised as a key to an otherworldly realm of indescribable pain and pleasure. The Lament Configuration match at Genesis is our key to a similar realm.

Your pain... my pleasure.

Ian sets the puzzle box back down, in order to focus solely on the camera in front of him.

Ian: Let me tell you something, you little troll. For the most part, I was more than happy to just let you run off at the mouth. After all, you weren’t saying anything particularly original.. Or even remotely entertaining. It was the same tired garbage again and again and again…

Ian clears his throat. His tone then changes to the most annoying imitation of his challenger’s voice that he can muster.

Ian: “Ian’s just a big idiot…” “Ian’s big and ugly…” “Ian’s a fookin’ rookie…”

Ian rolls his eyes in disgust before his voice returns to its normal timbre.

Ian: You haven’t said a goddamned thing that hasn’t been said about me before, Payne. Kinda reminds me of another annoying twat that ran on like a broken record… Wonder what happened to her? Never mind. It really doesn’t make any difference to me anymore. She’s in my rear-view.

He smirks.

Ian: And pretty soon, your exasperating ass will be joining her.

Ian shakes his head.

Ian: After all, I’ve had people coming after me that are WAY above your level since I’ve started defending my Horrorcore Openweight Championship. Guys like Graham Baker, for example. On paper, there were so many advantages he had over me… in theory, he should have wiped the mat with me and walked away with my title.

He pauses for a moment, his green eyes staring a hole through the camera lens.

Ian: But he didn’t.

His eyes narrow slightly.

Ian: Don’t get me wrong; it was one hell of a grueling match, but I still walked out of there with my championship reign intact. But in the end, Graham Baker actually did earn something from me… my respect. That’s something you’ll never earn.

You wanted to get under my skin, bitch? Well, congratulations, you little twat; you succeeded. But it’s not because of the lame bullshit that kept spilling from that tobacco-stained hole in your face you call a mouth. It’s because you made it personal, Payne. You brought my wife into our beef. Before you expel some of that hot air that you deem “veteran wisdom” about my wife being in the business, I don't care. She’s focused on her own match at Genesis, and I’d just as soon keep it that way. She couldn’t give two shits if her name’s in your mouth.

Ian scoffs in cold derision, sneering into the camera as he shakes his head.

Ian: Did I fly off the handle by wanting your head on a pike? Not really. You see, in your case, I ain’t doing shit by half measures. I’m heading into this match to make 100% sure that your 5’4” emaciated ass gets shoved back under that rundown McKeesport bridge you crawled out from under.

At Genesis, the fact that this match was pretty much custom-tailored for me doesn’t mean shit as far as I’m concerned. The match could've been a standard rules match and I would come at it just the same. Your training? Guess what, you’re not the only one that’s been trained by multiple-time World Champions, and I can guaran-fucking-tee you that my trainers have put me through the goddamned wringer in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. They know about my life and they’ve seen the battles I’ve already been through. They can see the sick sadistic glee in my eyes when I have no restrictions placed on me… in an environment where I have free reign.

A sadistic grin spreads across his face as he ponders the stipulations of his upcoming title defense, growing even wider as he casts another quick glance at the puzzle box.

Ian: The last time we faced off, it was a different time, in a different place, under a whole different set of circumstances….

Ian walks behind a nearby couch. Resting on the back, we can see the Horrorcore Openweight Championship belt. He rests his hands along the top edge.

Ian: None of that matters anymore. This time it’s just you and me, inside the cage. No distractions, no rules, and no unsolicited random little clout-sniffers getting in the way. All of your little excursions around the world, leaving little bits of yourself behind… none of that will mean shit once you enter the cage. This beauty right here…

Ian picks up the belt, draping it over his shoulder and patting the center plate.

Ian: ...Is my golden ticket, my license to carve you up like a Thanksgiving turkey. As long as you’re still alive at the end of the evening, everything else is fair game. If you won’t quit, fine by me. You can kick and scratch and claw until every last one of your nails gets pulled from your fingers, Payne. Eventually, your body will betray you.

Ian: Now, I know what thoughts are rattling around inside that head of yours like a handful of marbles in an otherwise empty jug. You’re thinking that if you can beat me in a match that’s right in my wheelhouse, I’ll slink off into the shadows like a scared puppy, but you can just go right ahead and keep dreaming, because I didn’t put all of this blood and pain and sweat into making this title mean something just to let someone like you come along and turn it into a worthless piece of sewer trash.

Ian drums his fingers on the center plate as he gazes at it and smiles.

Ian: There is one thing. Just as you’ve been repeating the same boring tripe ad nauseum, you’ve been pestering me to shine MY belt up for you, so I’ll tell you what. I think I can grant you that little bit of indulgence. I’ll shine this baby up so bright that when this is all over, and they hand me back my Horrorcore Openweight Championship belt, I’ll stand over the twisted pile of flesh that used to be Morgan Payne, and I’ll hold it right up to your face so that you can get a good look at your reflection….

The camera zooms in on the center plate of the championship belt.

Ian: The reflection of a loser.

As the scene fades out, the last sound picked up by the camera is that of Ian resuming his movie.