The last days of Mile High Wrestling are upon the world and the reactions have been far from mixed. There is a permeating feeling of loss and disappointment among the fans and locker room alike, almost a pall over what shall be the final broadcast of ThrowDown. But where there are dark thoughts and feelings there are also bouts of excitement and curiosity. And many of those center around the man known as the New Nightmare, the Mile High Monster… Reaper.
The masked man seems to be in a reminiscing mood when the camera falls upon him this time around. Standing tall before a wall lined with picture frames of various sizes, pictures in color and black-and-white alike. A gloved hand runs over the somewhat-dusty glass panes, covered eyes seeking and remembering through the frozen moments of the histories of many. As he continues to gaze, a voice speaks from elsewhere.
“You know, you don’t need that here. It isn’t as if you do not still belong.”
That voice pulsed, deep and strong, tinged with a bit of emotion. Reaper’s shoulders rise and fall as the big man takes a slow breath. But he shakes his head in response, moving further along the wall toward what appears to be a lineup of… keys? Each with a hook, each with a name and a picture… some scratched, some burned and some glossy and well-kept.
“Not until you finish things, then?”
A nod from the New Nightmare.
“Y’know… we’ve never questioned your dedication to your cause, even when it took you away for so long. It is out of that respect that things have continued in your absence. But you need to hear this from someone who has always been straight with you:”
Straightening, Reaper turns a hooded head as if to glance over his shoulder.
“He’s awake. He’s going to be okay. We know exactly where to find the rest of the people who called down this storm. So… why persist? What is there to gain from what ain’t gonna be anything but a self-serving shitshow that you’re higher than?”
There is silence for several moments, then…
“Have to say… that for all Robert Mack’s faults, he knows how to pick a fine place to bury his attempt at immortality. What’s left of you, Skrabz, will have an excellent view of the Valhalla you’ll forever be denied entry to. You see, wordsmith, we cannot have the halls of the honored dead sullied by a foul-mouthed bard who has only ever been out for himself. For the same reason, Mack won’t come within sniffing distance of that same glory. Because he is a coward. A duplicitous, self-serving little shit who could never stack up inside the ring and thus, in order to make himself feel important, manipulated one of the most dangerous people in the world.
Do you know the tale of Jormungandr, the World Serpent, Robert? He went into battle with Thor during Ragnarok and was slain by the Odinson. Not before his poison entered the veins of the God of Thunder, however. Thor took nine steps after the crushing of the serpent and fell dead. But that death is not what matters. It is the nature of it. It is the particulars. I choose to glorify the victory of Thor in this case, and that in his final moments he turned his back on that scaled corpse and held his head high for all nine of those steps.
Skrabz is the serpent that Reaper will crush with his hammer-like fists, Mack, and you are the poison that will eventually bring the Reaper down. But unlike the twilight of the gods, this story will have a far happier ending, Snakebite. The Reaper will fall, but much like the creatures you take your fancy nomenclature from, it will merely be the death of a mask. The New Nightmare will shed his flesh and emerge anew, taking the last remnant of this company from both Skrabz AND Robert Mack. And he will do it with a smile.”
The monologue is delivered against images of the very tale that Aloysius Marcus Vance IV relates. Drawing back, the images are shown to be framed and upon the hallway wall, a hallway that AMV is making his way down as he speaks. Dressed in a sharp black suit, his hair slicked back with nary a strand out of place, he continues to address both the owner of the company and the final opponent for the Reaper in a calm, even voice.
“There are many lessons to be learned in history. This is merely one of them. And there are more to come.”
He speaks with finality, turning to stare at the camera to emphasize his point. Coming to an ornate door, he opens it with some effort, pushing open the polished veneer and entering a church-like room. Stained glass windows, candles, pews… the whole she-bang. But it definitely has a paganist feel; at least, that is what those of other faiths might call it. Just inside the massive chamber, AMV folds his hands before him, bowing his head and closing his eyes. When he speaks, it is quiet… almost reverent.
“But most important one is that you can’t cheat death.”
LIfting his eyes, staring straight ahead, AMV almost smiles.
“And what is a reaper but death in another form? Don’t fear the reaper, as the song says. Well, Skrabz, the Blue Oyster Cult had never experienced what you are about to. So I wouldn’t go putting too much stock in that classic tune.”
The view pans out, starting to take in the sights from above as AMV walks down the center aisle, toward the altar at the end of the path. A person kneels there, before the stone-hewn piece, engraved intricately with what one could assume were runes. At the very least they were terms of another language. Coming within a few feet of altar and man, AMV stops. After a pause, he queries.
“You’re certain about this?”
A nod is given from the hooded figure, who rises to his full height, towering over AMV.
“Then the floor is yours.”
The figure begins to turn…
“And you really think that’s worth it? That sounds a lot more sentimental than what I’m used to from you.”
Reaper shrugs and turns from the wall at last. As he moves from it, a pair of double-doors catch his eye. The other person in the room, a massive fellow as well from the looks of him, bearing long, dark hair and facial scruff, nods in the direction of it.
“Like you need permission.”
There is a pause, but the monster instead walks over to the table where the other man is, lowering himself into one of the empty chairs. There’s several moments of silence between them before a somewhat-timid young man in a leather vest, white tee and denim comes over to them, putting a pair of beers on the table. One look from Reaper has him almost quailing, sweat dripping down his face. The black-haired fellow, however, snaps him out of it.
“Good man. See if they need anything in the garage. And don’t piss on the floor.”
Happy to have an excuse to get away from that masked gaze, the youngster almost trips over his own feet in his rush to escape. Reaper, shaking his head, gestures toward the kid after twisting the top off of his brown bottle. The black-haired man shrugs and the two tap the bottles together.
Both men take a long drink, with the hood keeping Reaper’s face hidden as the mask is lifted.
“...is this it?”
Reaper’s bottle stops midway to his lips.
“I mean, are you done in the ring after this?”
Setting the bottle back down, Reaper seems to be considering a response…
...and we are faced with the masked face of Reaper. Or at least it seems to be him. This is not the patchwork metal visage we are used to seeing from the man known as the New Nightmare. In line with his surroundings, the mask is instead some manner of animal skull, perhaps that of a buck. It could very well be a hodgepodge of different pieces, too; there are etching on it that match those upon the stone altar behind him, lending some credence to the idea. Aloysius Marcus Vance IV stands off to the side, arms folded, looking. As the view pans back a bit, we can also see the masked woman who has ‘worked’ with Reaper of late. Her mask, however, is an adrogynous piece, carved of wood and polished, giving a feminine visage of vague familiarity.
“Hail to the end of all that is.”
“Greetings to all that is to come.”
The woman and AMV speak in turn before moving off to the side, into the flickering shadows brought on by the innumerable candles posted all about. Now it is only Reaper.
Now… it is time.
“Well, whatever you decide, we have your back. Same as always.”
The two men, Reaper and his dark-haired companion, tap bottles and then drain their vessels simultaneously. Setting the bottle down with a heavy thump, Reaper lowers his mask again and rises to his feet. The man at the table merely nods as Reaper turns and heads to the door. No sooner does he reach out to grasp the knob than do the sounds of roaring engines within cages of metal start to sound off. He hesitates to take hold of the passage, only to find that the dark-haired man is on his feet as well, standing at Reaper’s side.
“They’re back. Did you not know?”
A shake of Reaper’s head and, perhaps, a bit of trepidation in his body language?
“They’re back for you. When they got word… well, how could they miss this? I told you: we have your back.”
Taking this in, Reaper nods and grasps the door handle, shoving it open and stepping out into the glaring sunlight of the day… showing just how dim the interior of the building was in the first place. Reaper becomes but a shadow vanishing into the rays of the sun like a lost soul finding its way into heaven. His companion follows behind him, the door slamming shut behind them and bringing a close to that particular moment.
“Inflict pain upon a man and he will learn strength. Inflict pain upon someone close to him and he will learn his limits. Inflict pain that goes beyond the physical and you will learn what he truly is on the inside. Whether you inflict that suffering by your own hand or that of a proxy, the result will be the same. Some will sink into despair and become a quivering, blubbering shell. Some will rise above on wings of virtue, seeking to mete out vengeance.
And then there are those who are both yet neither. I already know which one you are, Skrabz.”
A deep, sonorous voice monologues from behind the bone mask. The voice… of Reaper. Same leather gloves, same leather jacket, same black attire… but gone are the hood and the clockwork faceplate.
That voice, though… sounds less, or perhaps more, than human. Beyond the mere shock of hearing the man speak is the feeling that every inch of hyperbole that has been laid out by Aloysius Marcus Vance IV over the past few months has been true. That this is no mere mortal, but a monster. But that couldn’t be true.
“I know you better than anyone else. There’s not a living soul in this entire dying cesspool that I am not intimately aware of in terms of their true selves, but where it comes to you… it is on another level. No one, Skrabz, has made you look more vulnerable than I. No one, champ, has displayed your mortality more bithely than I. The fear in your eyes was real… same as the blood I drew from your head when mine smashed into it.”
He taps the temple of the skull and it isn’t hard to imagine the monster grinning behind that visage.
“That ignorant little shitbag, Tyke Index, saved you by ending that match prematurely. Shall we be utterly clear on that, boy? A brick to the face is sympathy compared to having me rip you apart like the arrogant punk that you are. See, that’s what victory does to a man, Skrabz. For so long they lauded you as this unbeatable monster; every defeat was quickly answered, the gold seldom leaving your grasp for long and once again the throne has your ass in it before the cushion lost any warmth at all. But the chinks began to show, whether you or Robert Mack or anyone else liked it or not.
And I WILL get to you soon enough, worm. But the champion comes first…”
Foreboding to the max. But Reaper pauses not for long.
“First, you let Tyke come within a hair of swiping the gold from you. Then, you let that lippy bitch Jansen Myrrh run you down and make you tap out. Ah, but that was not in a match, was it? Yet there you laid, fingers drumming a cantata on the canvas. Does it mean less because it did not cost you the championship? I think not. Had the same occurred at Myrrhder She Wrote in those same circumstances, that wannabe witch would be wearing the gold right now. But… it didn’t, did it? Once more, the unstoppable champion pulls glory out of his ass and strides forward, still the perennial flagship of Mile High Wrestling.
Except you aren’t unstoppable. You never were. You never will be. This company may have ridden on your shoulders for the bulk of its existence, but you are tired, Skrabz. Your witty repartee is no longer up to snuff and neither is the manner in which you fight. But you’re still the champ, you say? And how many times have you defended that belt against someone like me? The answer is none. Because there’s not a solitary soul in Mile High Wrestling who can touch me. Danae Ellis? The bitch was all but handed a win. Two weeks later, she was embarrassed. Two weeks after that, she was a ghost. That is the effect I have on the weak.
Solomon Cain? A cheap biker knock-off with a pissy attitude. The Coven? A gaggle of morons who bought into Myrrh’s bullshit yet couldn’t put away the Shieldmaidens despite multiple opportunities. Gabriel Ohio? Chris Mosh? Azurine Vebbins? Ripley? We can rattle off these names all day, Skrabz, but when the talking is done, the fact will remain: none of them have instilled fear like I have. Without a word and only these two hands I have crushed everyone in my path, including you. ThrowDown is just a continuation of what Index dared to interrupt. That’s why he’s still trying to scrub my fingerprints out of his skull while Mack runs scared.”
He turns back to the altar, running a gloved hand over it. He comes up with a drinking horn filled with amber liquid, holding it up high as he returns to facing the camera.
“I am the end of everything. Of your title reign, your aura of invincibility and of your chances of being remembered as anything other than my victim when the final bell tolls. I am the end of Mile High Wrestling, the last thing that Robert Mack will see as his company dies a pitiful death while I hold his precious championship up high. I am where careers go to die, Skrabz. So… here’s to your reigns…”
He pours a bit of the liquid from the horn.
“Here’s to what was once your wrestling career…”
A bit more is poured forth.
“Here’s to whatever respect you once had…”
A couple more drops hit the floor.
“...and here’s to the monster who will take it all away from you, Mack and everyone else who ever gave a damn!”
Between his gloved hands he crushes the vessel, the fluid dripping over his fingers, the crunch of broken splinters loud in the cavernous room. Letting the remnants fall from his open hands, landing silently on the floor at his feet, Reaper locks the hollow gaze of the mask upon the camera.
“But you, Robert Mack? You might not be around to see it. I’m going to keep this simple, just in case I start to lose Skrabz’s attention by not speaking about him:”
Crouching, Reaper takes hold of the camera and directs it right at his face.
“I know what you did. And before ThrowDown is over, I will wear your blood. At the urging of the one you hurt, though, am I allowing you to live through this. Were it up to me, you’d be in a fucking grave. But a better man has decided otherwise and has earned that right. Lucky you… for getting to watch me take everything away from you in the end.”
Shoving the camera back, the big man gets to his feet and turns his back on the camera, hands upon the altar.
“Say what you will, Skrabz. All the funny quotes and song lyrics in the world will not change the truth of this. Regale the world once again with what you’ve done and where you’ve been, but choose your words very carefully. Lies will only make this worse for you. Admit, once and for all, that end has come for you and step up to face it like a man. Because at ThrowDown, I end you… one way or the other. Whether I win the belt or not, it will leave the arena with me. Whether I win the match or not, your blood will be on my hands. And whether you continue to fight and rap anywhere else in this business when the day is done, you will not close your eyes without seeing my face and feeling what these hands have done to you.
The Reaper will have his. The rest of you can have whatever is left.”
He does not turn again. AMV and the masked woman step forth again, each on one side of Reaper.
“Hail to the end of all that is.”
“Greetings to all that is to come.”
The big man's shoulders shake as though he’s laughing.
An edited version of Skrabal's debut vignette from Mile High Wrestling Episode One begins to play.
The camera focusses on well trodden carpet that could really do with being hoovered. A thumping boom bap instrumental plays in the background just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of boisterous, male dominated conversation.
We slowly drift across the floor of the smokey room, and upon reaching a table leg the shot pulls back and opens up to show Skrabal Stanzas relaxing on a sofa
The video freezes and the sound fades out, replaced by a snippet of audio taken from Skrabal's first appearance on the Beer, Rap and Wrestling podcast, recorded on May twenty sixth, twenty eighteen.
Chris: You mentioned Isaac Combes there, what do you think about his chances in the triple threat title match next week?
"Blad don't even get me started on the title bidness. Ya nah this is what got man vexed in the first place. I mean I take partial responsibility for the shit still but the info was lax, ya dig? If man hada known about this title situation, if man hada know that the winners on episode one were getting that title work then you done know man like Skrabz would a been on episode one taking the dub from day dot, standard! As far as the triple threat title match goes fam I aint even care who wins. If it ain't Skrabz it aint matter.
"If it aint - If it ain't - If it ain't - ain't -'ain't - ain't ...
As the quote repeats and fades out it is quickly replaced by a snippet of audio from Skrabal's self shot promo video for his triple threat match against Deuce Holmes and Forge, recorded May twenty ninth, twenty eighteen.
"If it ain't Skrabz it ain't matter."
"Ya nah this lil ting between me and these new man is nuttin' personal, they just happen to be the nex' two pins set up for man to roll on through. It ain't a long term ting so lets not make it become one, yeah? Coz man like Skrabz has his eyes on a bigger prize than catching a dub over two wastemen. I ain't fly all the way around the world for nuttin' less than top spot, trust."
"I ain't - I ain't - I ain't fly all the way around the world for nuttin' less - nuttin' less - for nuttin' less than top spot - top spot - nuttin' less than the top spot"
The edited version of Skraba'ls debut vignette resumes playing.
"It's the man with the mouth like a Hadron Collider You should be concerned if this cat wants to cypher or fight ya Could be mashed off the cider a fat rock of china And still all you prats ain't a patch on this rhymer"
"And still all you prats ain't a - prats ain't a - prats ain't a - And still all you prats ain't a patch on this rhymer"
The video freezes again on Skrabal's face, his confident expression seeming as firm as stone, and the sound fades out again. A snippet from Skrabal's self shot promo video for his tag match with Samantha Hamilton against Candi and Laura Bratton, recorded June fifth, twenty eighteen, begins to play.
"Man like Skrabz got e'y single of one of ‘em shook coz they all nah that if man was on it from episode one I would a done been the champ already, standard!. The shit soon come though and man might not be known for delaying his gratification but I’m a wait till Phoenix and then I’m a snatch what’s mine.”
"And then I’m a snatch - I’m a snatch - I’m a snatch - And then I’m a snatch what’s mine - mine - mine - mine...”
The quote repeats then fades out and is replaced by a snippet of audio from Skrabal's self shot promo video for the same match, recorded June twelfth, twenty eighteen.
“Coz man like Skrabz is gonna keep rolling right on through whatever is put in front of him and a said it before but none of ya pissin' and poutin' or tweetin' and bitchin' is gonna stop it from happenin'. Man is just gonna keep on doin' and sayin' a whole lot of cool shit on his way to the title and ya can all stay feelin' however the fuck ya want about it...”
"Man is just gonna keep on doin' and sayin' - doin' and sayin' -doin' and sayin' - Man is just gonna keep on doin' and sayin' a whole lot of cool shit - cool shit - cool shit...."
The edited version of Skrabal's debut vignette from Mile High Wrestling Episode One resumes playing.
Mr Jackpot Saliva, my mouth full a win Make you nod your fuckin' skull till it ploughs through your skin It's that foul lil' ting lost and found in the bin That evolved from a troll to a towerin' king
"Evolved from a troll - from a troll - from a troll to a towering king"
The video freezes and fades out to highlights of the closing moments of the Mile High Wrestling Championship match that saw Candi Bratton defend against Skrabz at The Rise In Phoenix.
Out of nowhere, Candi comes back up and rehooks Skrabz into The Confessional!!!!!
Ray Hudson: Another Confessional!!
Skrabz stays on his knees, trying to get out, but this time it looks like he's fading. Skrabz gets to just one knee, and Candi starts jerking his head around. Skrabz, looking dazed and out of it, stands up fully as Candi wrenches at him with the submission hold.
Out of nowhere, Skrabz breaks loose and drops Candi with the Mic Check!!!!!
Ray Hudson: WHAAAAAAAAT?!!!!!!!
Skrabz lays on the mat for a moment, catching his breath. Breathing really really hard, with sweat dripping down her face, Candi starts stumbling back to her feet, somehow.
Skrabz looks on in shock, and gets to his feet. Candi comes behind Skrabz again, trying to get him in The Confessional once more, but Skrabz drops her with another Mic Check, and quickly slides over her, into a pinning position.
1... 2... 3
"EVOLVED FROM A TROLL TO A TOWERIN' KING"
As the highlight video shows Skrabal being handed the Mile High Wrestling Championship it gradually fades out to the first promo image released of Skrabz with the championship belt, from July twelfth, twenty eighteen.
The video opens to a shot of Skrabal Stanzas, the reigning MHW Ultimate and Phoenix Champion, sitting on the sofa in his Denver motel room with his Phoenix title perched on the sofas backrest behind him. He sits forward, hunched over on the edge of his seat, his head and his face partially obscured by the hood of his black Toll Gang hoody. In his lap sits the MHW Ultimate Championship belt, face up, and his eyes are set staring right down intently.
A trail of smoke drifts up through the shot as Skrabal begins to speak, his voice low and demeanour seemingly sombre.
“Fam I... Look it's not a ting but... I....”
He lowers his head further and supports it's weight with his right hand which is in turn supported by his right knee, as his remains seated, hunched over on the sofa.
“It's been a... I dunno how to...”
He leans forward and picks up a lit joint from an ash tray that sits on the floor out of shot.
“I mean... Shit...”
He takes a deep toke on his joint and exhales then snaps his head up, causes the hood to fall from his head as locks his eyes on the camera.
“What? You ain't really think man was gonna be stuck for words did ya? What now? Nah, I'm jus' fuckin' witchu... Not now not never and you dizzy as fuck if ya thought otherwise... So gather round innit, sit down and listen good. Now I seen one or two of 'em out there talkin 'bout those last show feels, yeah they in that fuzzy mood talkin' that gas about bygones be bygones coz we fixin' to shut up shop so I just wanna let ya know that as far as I be concerned it stay fuck each and e'ry one a ya till they drag me outta the buildin', standard!”
He takes a deep toke on his joint and then leans forward to place it back in the ash tray out of shot. As he leans back to an upright position he takes his MHW Ultimate Title in his right hand and looks at it.
“What ya see when ya look at this?”
He turns the title towards the camera briefly, then lays it back in his lap.
“Ya see the gold innit, yeah ya see the jewels embedded in the shit, you the see the shine. YIt's real pretty fam... Ya nah what I see when I look at the ting? I see near on two years a dedication, I see bodies stacked one a top the other reachin' up to the sky. I see Solomon Cain's suicide attempt, Bullet's downward spiral and Tykes tears...."
He leans forward and takes the joint from the ashtray on the floor and holds it in his right hand.
“Ya nah what else I see though? I see those years before all a that, those long nights I spent travellin' up and down those roads back home. I see the small crowds and smaller pay days, the hard work and no reward to show for it. That's why I had to keep it fam, I had to get mine. It's why I couldn't let nobody take the shit from me. I had to keep mine... This be why I'm hear blad, the only reason. It be why I wake up in the mornin', shit for the past two years it be about the only consistent ting man's had goin' for him. Rest a my life ain't nuttin' but temporaries, only tings stay regular is the dub and the strap.”
He looks down at his MHW Ultimate Championship belt while puffing on his joint.
“ Yeah I had this shiny shit for ever innit, five hundred and eighty four days to be precise but shit who's countin'... Check the ting though, there only been one Mi' High Ultimate Title match ain't have man like Skrabz in it, only been one more where I ain't been defendin' it. My name been printed large at the top a e'ry pay view and special event Mi' High done put on and that shit be for a reason too. Ain't no favourites here fam, shit while most of ya been sayin' the bossman had my back I spent half my time on top lookin' at him wit' the side eye, accusin' him a all manor a madnesses and to be real witchu I could do that same shit right now, wit' this two matches in one night ting he got me doin'. Yeah, last night at work and he got me pullin' a two piece, double duty for the duel wielder but on the level ya done know I wouldn't have it any other way.”
He takes another couple of puffs on his joint then leans down the side of the sofa for a bottle of beer.
"Coz I ain't afraid a the work bredda, nevr have been, nah! Not like some of 'em, my heart stay in this art till the end, trust!... But true say the bossman gimme a shot, one time, way back when he lined me up wit' Candi Bratton but shit that was almost two years ago and for real he made me work for it ever since. You heard it right blad this shit been work, it be hard ya nah, no matter how easy I might make it look. But yeah he gave me that chance but I ain't the only one, only dif'rence between me and e'ryone else he picked out is I ain't drop the ball, I caught it, held it close and I been runnin' wit the shit ever since while ya all jus' stumble behind me.”
He smirks smugly as he twists the top off the bottle and drops it on the floor.
“And if you ask me I'm a tell you I be best man for the job anyway, coz if ya listen to what they say ain't nobody else here care 'bout titles or dubs till they get them but ain't nuttin' mean more to me, never has never will.”
He pauses and takes a long drink from the bottle.
“And shit that brings me to the big man innit, the final challenger to the big strap packer. Coz his lil' pip squeak lawyer buddy made it known not too long ago that the strap ain't matter to man like Reaper, that's what he said fam. Imagine that, big man like that not wantin' the biggest prize goin'. I guess he gone spent too much wit' Tyke innit. I guess that be why he ain't really want it wit' Bullet too. Yeah he done hung out wit' Mister If Ya Can't Beat 'Em Run Away And Start Ya Own Shit for too long, he done caught that moistness. Shit, Tyke prolly done leaked all over him.”
He shakes his head and dramatically fakes a sarcastic shudder.
“That's nasty ya nah”
He shakes his head and takes another drink of beer.
“Not as nasty as those bones you be wearin' though. That's rancid fam. The fuck is wrong witchu?...”
He finishes his beer and drops the empty bottle on the floor.
“Oh but big man talks now too? Is that for me blad? Is man s'posed to be flattered or suttin?... Ya nah I got a feelin' that ain't the only ting that been for me either...”
He laughs arrogantly and shakes his head.
“I ain't flattered though, nah, not by a long shot.”
he shakes his head again then takes another deep draw on his joint before leaning down for another bottle of beer.
"But shit from what I hear this the match they been waitin' to see, yeah it seem ya lawyer buddy there done play the part a the blacksmith well, held those tools in the fire till they glowed hot and helped you forge yaself a spot here in Mi' High... They say you had 'em all runnin' for help but all I nah is last time me and you stepped together in that ring it was you who needed savin'. Still they try twist it, tell me Tyke protected me... What by smashin' mans face in wit' a fuckin' brick?...
A look of disgust falls over his face as he twists the cap from the bottle.
"Are ya dizzy blud?... I mean fam they got some agile minds for real, I heard a mental gymnastics but they brains gotta be doin' parkour to jump to that kinda conclusion, ya get me?"
He laughs arrogantly as he drops the bottle top on the floor, then takes a good long drink from the brow glass bottle.
“But I said it before fam, people love to talk. They think if they say suttin' often enough it a be true in the end, they ain't realise they gottta make it happen. Ya seen I said I was gonna be champ and made it happen, once I got the strap I said I was gonna keep it and I kept it e'ry time. I made it happen... I hear someone say they instil fear like no other. Maybe a few of been shook but fam I ain't do scurred."
He shakes his head confidently.
"Never that, nah!.. 'Specially not when you wearin' a fuckin' mask made a bones"
He laughs smugly and takes another quick drink from the bottle before continuing.
"But I repeat it again, some people jus' like to talk. Me included, you had that right Alloy Whee... nah fuck it, I'm a say it right. Aloysius Marcus Vance, there be one lil' tinge a truth to the words you uttered before Myrrhder She Wrote, man like Skrabz do like to talk. I ain't even care who listen s'long as it's heard. But as for the rest a that gas you been chattin' 'bout that nostalgia hittin' sometime down the line and man like Skrabz thinkin' back to his time at the top... Shit truth is I'm a keep it movin' and in jus' a short time this shit a be bit but a distant memory to me. You and the rest of 'em ain't ever forget it though, the shit I done be legendary status, on a tell ya grandkids vibe and one day each and e'ry one of ya might realise how lucky ya been to jus' witness it. I mean look at the state a play fam, they shuttin' the shit down coz ain't nobody left. Even some struch a luck, or divine intervention, if some way somehow Reaper do manage to pry that strap from my finger tips there nobody left for him either. I done seen 'em all off.... I mean there be people here who workin' elsewhere too, they doin' good, they big names in other places but they look kinda small when they step back to Mi' High, back in mans shadow. It's real dark there fam, cold too. You ask me they been doin' well jus' to survive in it.”
With his face a picture of sarcasm and arrogance combined his titles his bottle towards the camera briefly before quickly drinking what's left of his beer.
“But survin' all they been doin', ain't none of 'em flourish here."
He drops the empty bottle on the floor and intermediately reaches for another one, twisting the lid off before even returning to an upright position then taking a long drink before continuing.
"Coz not many of 'em had the initiative to step up on they own accord and I ain't been hard to find, all along I been right there posted in the back, biggest room going fam ya can't miss it, shit the door even got my name on it but still nobody ever came knockin', nah. Instead it's been whispered words in the hallways and sideways glances as I walk by coz ain't a single one of ya ever had the guts to step up unless the bossman told ya to do so, and ya wonder why I still got the strap? Coz not a single one of ya ever proved ya really been about it I mean check the ting fam, man a give ya prime example Gabriel Ohio, Mister Trauma himself, came back from the dead a time or two or suttin', what is he? A wasteman! Coz he had the opportunity to go for any strap he felt to. What one he go for? Not one a mine and fam I had two for him to chose from. Still got 'em too.”
He winks arrogantly as he returns his joint to his mouth and inhales it's intoxicating smoke deep in to his lungs.
“I mean fam for fucks sake Jansen Myrrh be the only one out here that told me she wanted it off her own back, let that sink in blad.”
He shakes his head, an exaggerated look of disbelief disp;ayed on his face.
“But still they bitch and cry 'bout it, beg and plead for somebody to take the ting off me. And Reaper they last hope fam, literally. So come episode thirty they can all gather round the screens in the back, or fuck it come right on down to ringside and grab yaselves a front row seat. Sit right there wit' the people and cheer and chant for Reaper, ya can even bring some signs if it's what ya wanna do but it ain't gonna make a bit a dif'rence. Coz while ya might all be expectin' to see him raise the strap and drop the mask what ya gonna see is man like Skrabz, once again, catchin' that dub like I been doin' since day... Then I'm a rip Reapers mask off myself and spit right in his face coz he actually think this be his moment, and he and his layer there gotchu all thinkin' the same misguided bullshit.”
He his head as that same exaggerated look of disbelief returns
“But Reaper ain't 'bout to pull no plugs, Mi' High ain't flat linin' bredrin, this ain't the end.”
He locks his stare on the camera as he confidently mouths the words "Never that.".
“You wanna nah why?"
His confident glare sets in firmly as he maintains his stare on the camera.
"Coz a the big boss, the top dog, the sensei, the grandmaster, the big strap packer, man like Skrabz. I be the Mi' High Ultimate Champion from beginin' to end fam, I gave this shit life...”
He finally takes his eyes off the camera as he elans to the side for his third bottle of beer.
“So it's only right I be the one to look Reaper in the face and tell him go fuck himself.”
He places his joint in his mouth and pulls through it while twisting the lid of the brown glass bottle. He drops the lid on the floor then takes the joint from between his lips and exhales another thick cloud of smoke. His intense gaze sets back on to the cameras lens.
“Coz Mi' High ain't dyin' on February sixteenth blad, nah. I'm a make sure it and man like Skrabz live on for ever.”
He breaks eye contact with the camera and takes a quick drink from the bottle.
“And the rest a ya can do what ya always done.”
He places the joint back in his mouth and draws through it again, inhaling deeply then exhaling another greyish white cloud of smoke.
“Jus' sit there and watch me do it.”
He pauses with his eyes locked on the camera, cutting through the smoke heavy air with intensity.
He places the joint back in his mouth and it's ember burns bright as the video ends.
Admin: Note that the deadlines have changed. I made the change for the convenience of the other judges.
May 17, 2021 15:21:30 GMT -6
Admin: Hope everyone is enjoying their 4th of July weekend/week/day! 💪💯💯
Jul 4, 2021 14:22:58 GMT -6
Admin: Where do yall hist photos? I'm thinking about switching sites, because I'm paying a monthly subscription for Photobucket and they got watermarks back on my images. I'm guessing it's a glitch or something, but it's already been two days.
Aug 7, 2021 6:56:18 GMT -6
The Purge: I use Imgur - and I've never paid a cent for their services, and no water marks
Aug 7, 2021 8:48:13 GMT -6
Deleted: o.o Lord, Rob! Get away from Photobucket ASAP! I’m with Haircin — use Imgur. It’s way better and costs nothing.
Aug 8, 2021 16:28:35 GMT -6
Admin: I appreciate yall! ✊💯💯 Ima look into it this week. Apologies to everyone if some of the images for the show tonight have that Photobucket watermark. I didn't have the time today obviously to make any switches. But I will make time this week. 💯💯
Aug 8, 2021 17:43:04 GMT -6
Admin: Katrina will probably be happy too as she was just telling me I was crazy for paying monthly for a photo host. Lol.
Aug 8, 2021 17:44:00 GMT -6
Admin: ***NOTE*** I moved the deadline up 12 hours to give the judges an extra day to read over the rps.
Aug 10, 2021 15:29:37 GMT -6
Admin: Started messing with Imgur today and confirmed to myself that Imgur was the original photo host I was using for Season One and the beginning of Season Two of MHW. Something made me mad and thats when I switched to Photobucket. I don't remember what though.
Aug 12, 2021 16:08:47 GMT -6
Admin: Ima still switch back to it though, because the Photobucker watermarks are still showing up on some images.
Aug 12, 2021 16:09:19 GMT -6
Admin: ***Just A Reminder*** The new deadline is less than 24 hours away. 💪💯💯
Aug 20, 2021 9:45:58 GMT -6
cmosh: Marisol Vilaró is Spanish, she is from Spain
Sept 14, 2021 22:50:17 GMT -6
Admin: Noted 💪💯💯 So I can get Rrina to teach me how to pronounce her name.
Sept 15, 2021 15:35:32 GMT -6
cmosh: Don't worry I don't know how to pronounce it either. She is actually played by someone else, so it is sometimes hard to do RP's with them due to our work schelduce but I am alound to use the character over here
Sept 15, 2021 19:28:12 GMT -6
Admin: Trying something different with the match writing, based off of research and just to try something new. It's a hit or miss concept, so feedback would be appreciated. ThrowDown will also debut the new layout concept. AMMO will start with that new layout...
Sept 18, 2021 8:35:55 GMT -6
Admin: ...on the following AMMO. This AMMO will just have the new match writing idea.
Sept 18, 2021 8:36:32 GMT -6
cmosh: I want to apologize to everyone for not doing a rp this week. Just been a tough week at work and other things got in the way as well, again I'm really sorry for not rping this week
Sept 18, 2021 21:07:43 GMT -6
Admin: It happens, brudda!
Sept 19, 2021 19:49:09 GMT -6