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David Miller vs. Alex Desoubrais Jr.
Topic Started: Mar 19 2012, 09:13 PM (103 Views)
Kassie Khane
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Admin and Second in Command of the Nation of Moderation
[ *  *  * ]
SCW PRESENTS : Breakdown: March 28, 2012

David Miller vs. Alex Desoubrais Jr.

RP Limit: 3 RP each
Deadline: Noon EST Tuesday, March 27, 2012

~Good Luck Everyone!~
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Miller
Advanced Member
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OOC: Absolute junk, Olek. GoW just wiped me clean on drive for the past couple weeks. Can't say I regret it though, it helped build my confidence. Anyway, this is thrown together over the last day or so just to keep his SL's relevant and to give you as much as I can to work with. Hopefully it's not too bare bones for you.

Good luck, bossman, and again, sorry about the late showing. Just too tired, lol.
=======================================================

Santa Ana, California

Between the attack on Jake, the endless tirades by Cole about his so-called ‘payback,’ and the stress of being pulled in two directions at once by both his obligations to SCW as well as his efforts in the God of War tournament, to call the week ‘exhausting’ would have been a cruel understatement. Still, Miller kept his eyes hard and his stride strong as he maneuvered his way through the terminal’s gathering crowd. Even with the more noted L.A.X. less than an hour’s drive away, John Wayne was still one of the busiest airports in the County. The proof was pretty much crushing in on him from all sides. More than once, he’d been forced to jab his elbow into a rib or two to get people out of his way. Even with nothing but his canvas duffel, Michael’s old gym bag, he had trouble navigating through the sea of bodies and through the numbered arch of his gate. Dumping the bag by one of the bench-rows he double-checked the flight on his ticket to the digital read-out over the check-in desk. It wasn’t there, so he had more than a little time to kill.

Glancing to his watch to gauge how big the window was, he scanned the terminal, ignoring the endless multitude of gift-shops, take-out diners and the rest, before he finally spotted the bar on the corner across from him. It meant another wade through the traffic, but Dyson had mentioned meeting there to ‘talk.’ Only he’d used a tone that didn’t sit well with Miller…not then, and certainly not now. Especially knowing that whatever it was, it was something he couldn’t tell Aria for fear of hurting her. That, more than anything else, was what had him shouldering and shoving his way through the mob in order to find an open seat in the little alcove that served as the bar’s seating area. The tender was a young enough guy, maybe Miller’s age, who took little notice of the new arrival, save for the standard ‘double-take.’ Maybe not out of instant recognition, but it registered one way or another, and it was enough to give Miller a slight boost in his pride.

Ever since his return, he’d been dealing with two things in equal measure. One was the fact that everyone, even the ones who’d had so much faith in him in the past, had all turned their backs on him. It didn’t matter if they had right or cause, which they did, all he knew was all the support he’d had going into some of the biggest matches of his life, was suddenly gone. He was standing alone against a world of doubters and haters. The effect of it still struck him strange. He’d been alone almost all his life. Yes, he had the odd blood-tie here or there, a father, a mother, but one was dead before he could connect, and the other was a dark and tormenting entity, almost like a fleshly ghost that had done nothing but haunt him for all his life…

He could still remember the way entire arenas, even full cities would rally behind him, like he’d been elected their ‘chosen champion’ against the likes of the Real Speed or Greaternity. Now, they cheered, and they chanted his name, but the loyalties had been broken. The trust was gone. The cheers and calls came out of respect for who he was and what he’d done…not for him, himself. He’d always thought it was something he’d simply become used to…but he hadn’t. If anything, it was only thickening more and more in the back of his mind, like a ten-pound weight constantly holding him back. Maybe he didn’t need the favor of the fans, itself…but to know they couldn’t trust him. Knowing they all expected him to turn his back on them again…that was what had him standing an extra second on the stage during his entrance, or lingering a moment or two after he’d picked up the win. He wanted…even needed them to know that he wasn’t leaving.

He wasn’t going to abandon them again.

The other issue plaguing him was personal, and certainly not new. Adding up his last three runs with the company resulted in only three wins against seven losses. Just admitting that to himself was beyond embarrassing, it was flat-out insulting, both to him, and Michael in memory. There was no excuse, no reason and no apology for falling so low, for allowing himself to become that sloppy and lacking in the ring. And as a result, his confidence had plummeting twice as fast as his reputation within the company. There had been a time when his name was almost revered. Men like Donovan Kayl or Jay Gold would stand across the ring and stare with eyes wide, playing their hand at looking confident, when their faces revealed they were anything but. He’d been a dominant and devastating opponent…then. Now, he was nothing but the butt of poor radio jokes. And when he wasn’t dealing with Knots’ immaturity, he was swatting at the little biting fly that was Colin Cole…who had finally made good on that vow for revenge, even if it was somewhat lacking.

Shaking his head and resisting the urge to smile all he could, Miller reached up to gingerly touch and rub at the dark bruises marring the right side of his face. Both his eye and cheek were swollen, and a small cut could still be seen just over his brow where the edge of the chair had sliced through him. The pain was already gone save for the standard aches, but the damage hadn’t been physical so much as mental, anyway…

That one moment had cost him two things: The God of Wrestling Tournament, and his momentum.

For all his chidings about Cole and his lack of true skill, the little shit had shown talent for one thing, picking his shots. He’d waited for the perfect opportunity, and he’d seized it. Valiant had been reeling for the better part of their match. Quick as he was, tough as he was, he’d been hurt. He’d been on the defensive and looking for an escape…and Cole provided one for him. To be honest, it wasn’t even the loss that made his blood simmer, because he hadn’t lost! …Valiant hadn’t beaten him into submission, he hadn’t put him down for the pin…if not for Colin Cole, Shilo Valiant would have found himself spiked in the next minute.

Gritting his teeth to keep from any kind of outburst, Miller leaned back in the seat and brought his full hand up to rub and soothe the bruising. Cole had been an annoyance at best going into Retribution. From there, between all the rants and tirades about his ‘payback’ and Knots trying to rip into him on the ‘A-Show,’ the kid had become something of a thorn in his side. That, in and of itself could be considered an accomplishment, since he took a fair amount of pride in both his composure, and his ability to ignore the environment, to distance himself from the emotional drama in order to focus solely on the fight itself. Cole had finally managed to break that mental barrier. He found a way to get what he wanted - Miller’s attention.

But that was the bad news, too. Now that he had Miller focused solely on him…he had nowhere to run.

And running was the only thing that would keep him alive.

Still…Cole could wait. Sooner or later, Mr. D would stop toying around and sign the match, but for now, he was still contracted as a ‘probationary’ talent, meaning he had to work his way through the under-cards a little more. It still irked him, given the names he’d notched in the past, but he could understand the reasons behind it. The members of the Board were the same as anyone else. They saw what he could do, they knew the reputation he brought with him…but they also knew how quickly he could disappear. After the loss to Valiant, they were probably waiting for him to haul ass already. Folding his arms atop the table, he ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth, suckling on them a little while closing his eyes. He’d told himself no less than a hundred times that he didn’t give a rat’s ass if the Board, or Mr. D or anyone in the Front Offices were concerned. They’d already labeled him everything from a ‘liability’ to a ‘mistake.’ But maybe knowing that was what made it impossible to fully ignore them. In the past, he’d known Bob Tomlinson fairly well, and his history with Mr. D, himself was pretty much etched into SCW lore. The fact that even they had to sit back and second-guess just how much of a value he was to Supreme Championship Wrestling…was torture.

“…you ordering anything?” The tender’s voice shredded the silence of the alcove.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Miller blinked and checked his watch. He’d been sitting there for almost twenty minutes. “Uh, yeah, sure…” he hadn’t seen any menus or listing when he walked in, so he took a second to glance around at what others were drinking. “Bottle of Corona Gold. Salt on the rim, please.”

The tender nodded and turned away.

Mike would be down your throat for that.”

The familiar voice brought a smile to Miller’s face. “Yeah, well…week I’ve had, I think he’d understand.”

Maybe.” Emerging from the crowd, Dyson Scott settled into the seat opposite Miller, leaning back enough to give the tender a shake of his head. “Thanks, but I’m not here long.” Turning back, he reached out to take and shake his friend’s hand, a dark brow hiking some at the bruising. “Looks like you’ve had some fun the last couple days.”

Not really.” Biting back the irritation as best he could, Miller leaned back and draped an arm over the back of the chair. “Just some little shit with a grudge...thinks he’s going to repay a favor from awhile back.”

Oh, yeah? …what’d you do?”

Miller shrugged. “Knocked him cold. Crammed my foot down his throat and put out the lights.”

Dyson feigned a look of confusion. “…and he’s upset about it?” Shaking his head, he shrugged. “Weird.”

This time Miller didn’t smile. The jokes could come easily enough, but the reason for the meeting still gnawed on the back of his mind like a sewer rat. Silent, he played his fingertips along some of the water stains in the table-top, listening more to the clink and clatter of the bottles behind the bar, or the disembodied voice of the television mounted on the wall than to anything Dyson said. After a couple minutes, he heard the tender’s signal and turned to claim his beer, ignoring the faint smile that played across his friend’s face. He’d been right. Michael probably would have given him hell for drinking it. He’d been a ‘Straight Edge’ follower, and had passed those same rules on to the Academy. No drinking, no smoking, no poisoning or tainting of your body…though for some reason, he never minded all of the tattoos Miller had.

A sudden rap on the table pulled his attention back to Dyson, who was staring at him with hardened eyes.

Listen,” both lowering his voice, and losing the humor at the same time, Dyson leaned forward and made certain to keep their eyes locked. “You’re the one who wanted answers. Don’t sit there and act like I’m forcing you to listen to any of this. Anytime you want, you can get up and leave…or maybe I will, it really doesn’t matter. Now, do you want to know what’s going on or not?”

Running a fingertip along the salt-lined rim of the bottle, Miller finally took a long, slow pull of the amber cerveza before nodding. “Yeah. I do. How about we start with just why our fair city is willing to be so generous. Why would they pay for Jake's treatments?”

Jake’s a potential witness.” Dyson stated bluntly. “Not like it’s anything new, David. You’ve seen both Michael and I heading down to the ER’s before.” Folding his hands on the table, he glanced out into the crowd, then turned back to Miller. “The crew that’s been running around down there, live in the complex right behind Jake’s trailer park. That means he’s seen them before. He’s been there when they came around the Academy the last couple times. He can point out the ones that attacked him out of a line-up…and…” a faint shrug was given. “He can tell me if he’s seen Chris talking to any of them before this.”

That last part, obviously, got Miller’s attention. “…why would Chris be talking to them?” Warning them off, maybe. Maybe even threatening them about not coming near the Academy or any of the students again, but the way Dyson said ‘talking’ …implied something he wasn’t comfortable with. “…and about what?”

Tapping one of his fingertips as if biding his time, Dyson took a second to lean forward, motioning Miller to do the same so they could lower their voices. “…I’ve had a couple of the students down at the station over the last few months. Juan was the first, as I remember it. They kept hearing arguments out in back of the Academy. Chris and some other, younger voices. Things about money, about deliveries, about specific parts of the city or specific streets. Basically, the kind of thing you’d hear between dealers and suppliers.”

Sitting a little straighter, Miller’s eyes narrowed. “You think he’s running drugs through the school?!” The response came much louder than he’d intended, earning looks from the tender and more than a few of the patrons, but he honestly didn’t care. Shaking his head, he swallowed the growl forming in his chest and just let it out as a slow chuckle, instead. “Dyson, I’d be the first to admit Chris is a fucking prick, but there’s not one chance in hell he’d have the balls to try something like this.”

I’m just relaying what I’d heard, David. But like it or not, I’ve been hearing it enough that it’s starting to earn some of my attention. I’ve got half the kids in that place telling me this, and now I’ve got one of them turning up beat to a pulp by the same group that’s been hanging around that place the last couple months…”

Coming from one of the kids, Miller would have written it off as retaliation. Maybe he’d come down on them for violating the rules. They could have been drinking or got too violent during sparring. Training in the martial arts or wrestling or boxing, any kind of structured discipline, really, wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. Average people leading normal lives had trouble adhering. For kids like himself, Juan, Jake or the others, with all the shit they’d been through, it was almost impossible. Still…something didn’t sound right.

He’d known Chris for the better part of ten years. The bastard had a temper, sure. He was arrogant as fuck and a perfectionist, too. But a criminal? …that was taking things somewhere he just couldn’t follow. Plus, there was something else pulling him in a different direction…something Aria had mentioned about Dyson.

Taking another pull from the bottle, he cupped it with his palms, using them to turn it from side to side. “Is this what happened between you two?” Lifting his eyes, he bored into Dyson’s darker browns with a stare that was almost unyielding. “I keep hearing two different stories about why you stopped teaching. Chris says you were fucking the place up. Aria says he kicked you out…I’m not sure who to believe, so how about you tell me what the hell happened, huh?”

We had some differences.” The answer was clipped, almost bitten off sharp.

No shit.” Miller snapped back. “Don’t dance with me on this, Dyson…” letting some of the steel leak back into his tone, he held the man’s eyes without blinking. “If this is some kind of fucked up retaliation…”

You really think I’m like that?!” This time it was Dyson’s voice that broke, earning yet another round of looks from the bar. A couple of patrons took their drinks and moved across the room, while the tender glared at them in silent warning. Dyson simply nodded his understanding and looked back to Miller. “I don’t know what happened, alright? …I came in to teach a class one morning and he calls me into Mike’s old office, tells me I’m out. He’s taking over full-time. All the classes, all the paperwork. Meeting with the social workers and cops for the new applicants, all of it.” Shaking his head, he gave a hard sigh of frustration. “Michael was like my fucking brother, David, you know that! …you really think I would have just up and walked on that place like that? …I’d hoped you gave me at least a little more credit than that.”

If you were accusing anyone else, I would.” Even Miller surprised himself with that statement.

Dyson’s own shock was evident in his eyes. It flashed only for a moment, though, before he seemed to sink a little deeper into that defensive irritation. “And just what has that asshole done to earn your trust, huh?”

He’s my brother, Dyson.” Making it more of a statement than an emotional answer, Miller shook his head and leaned back in his seat, staring blankly at the moist drops slipping down is beer bottle. “I don’t care for him any more than you do, trust me…but bottom line is he’s family. Him and Aria…only family I’ve got.”

Dyson fell silent on that, turning his eyes to the television above the bar while folding his arms upon the table with a quiet exhale. A couple of moments passed unhindered, before he gave a simple nod. “Alright, fair enough. I don’t see it, but if that’s how you feel…” lifting his hands, he offered his palms in placation while settling back in his seat. “Like I said, all I know is what I’m told, and I’ve heard it from every kid there. Tack on the fact that he turned me loose without a straight answer, and to me, that starts looking just a little suspicious. It makes me want to talk to this kid Jake as soon as he wakes up.” To his credit, Dyson at least ease his tone down a little when he mentioned Jake. “I just wish I knew why they picked him…”

What do you mean?”

Just that,” Dyson answered, “why Jake? …why not Juan, or Chewie or Bryce. Why not the girls? …we're pretty sure these guys have raped a dozen girls around the neighborhood already.” The anger returned to his tone admitting that. “They could have grabbed Beck or Kat, or even Tricia…done whatever they wanted and dumped them back in front of the school…instead they went for Jake. Purposely. Like he’d been the target from the very beginning.”

Chris dealing drugs. Jake being singled out. None of this was making much sense. And the more Miller tried to wrap his mind around it, the more it seemed to scatter, stretching out to the furthest reaches where he couldn’t grab it. Even if Juan or Chewie or whoever it was had just been pissed about Chris coming down on them…that didn’t explain what happened to Jake. As much as he hated the idea, it really did seem like they’d singled the kid out…they’d intended for Chris to find him in that doorway. It was clearly a message.

But why? …why would a bunch of street punks turn on their supplier? …that made even less sense!

Releasing the bottle, Miller brought both hands to his face, ignoring the flash of pain as he rubbed and ground his palms against the swollen bruises. With Breakdown only a couple days away, there wouldn’t be enough time to heal before his match with Alex Junior. He’d be walking into the ring with a giant bulls-eye stamped on the side of his face. Still, he could worry about that later, right now, he was still trying to wrap his mind around all the problems he had right here at home…with little luck, unfortunately. Nothing had gone the way he’d hoped. He’d expected a little tension when he came back, with Chris, especially, but not the seething hatred he’d felt on more than on occasion. And falling head-first into this kind of bullshit was the furthest thing from his mind. After all those years with Michael, he thought he’d gotten away. Thought he’d escaped the past…but apparently, that old saying was true: Sooner or later…it was going to catch up…

“…you see why I didn’t want Aria to know?” Dyson finally broached the silence, though gently. “She’s already had to put up with all of us giving her excuse after excuse after excuse about why we couldn’t catch the fuck that killed Mike, but now this? …next to you, Chris is all she has left…something like this…” He shook his head as he simply trailed off for a moment. “I mean, it would kill her, David…I know it would.”

Miller nodded his agreement. “…okay.” Taking a slow, centering breath, he glanced at his watch, then over to the gate. His flight was due in fifteen minutes. Reaching for the beer, he downed another sip and cleared his thoughts. “Say for argument's sake that I buy it. Chris is up to something. What exactly do you have in mind?”

Catch him. Simple as that. I’ve been trying to get some of the students to keep their ears open, but either they don’t trust me, or they don’t want to get involved. Honestly, it could be either one. Even if I’m not a real cop anymore, I still represent them, you know? …as for the other, well, what happened with Jake is going to hammer that home like a fucking nail.” Shaking his head, Dyson gave a low sigh. “So I’m caught between a rock and a hard place until Jake wakes up…like I said, there had to be a reason they picked him.”

Miller couldn’t think of a valid argument against that. Upturning the Corona, he polished it off and set the empty aside before pushing his chair back from the table. “…alright. Tell you what,” he kept his voice low, half-worried that if he said it too loud, he’d change his mind. “I’ll be your spy.” Seeing the look on Dyson’s face, he brought his hand up. “Not for you. I’m doing it to prove he’s not into anything, but me listening in is the only way we’ll get anything either way, right?” When Dyson finally nodded, he picked his duffel off the ground and thumped it on the table, digging his wallet out to pay for the beer before turning back to Dyson, watching him from the corner of his eye. “And in return…you can do me a favor.”

Caution flared in the detective’s eyes as he eased back into his chair as casually as possible. “And that is?”

Fire burned behind Miller’s eyes as they slammed into Dyson’s. “Get me a name. Any name. Any one of those shits from that complex…I think I might want to go and have a little chat with them.”

Before Dyson could object, Miller turned and stepped out into the sea of people. Over his shoulder, he could barely hear the man calling his name, no doubt intent on talking him out of it, but he ignored it all the way across the terminal. By the time he stepped through his gate, Dyson’s voice had died out. As he stepped onto the plane, a plan was already beginning to form in the back of his mind…and once he was seated and silent…he knew exactly what needed to be done. He only hoped it went off half as well as he expected it to.

Otherwise, he’d end up exactly like Jake…or worse.

[align=center]==========REC==========[/align]

The tradition continues, as the scene fades in to reveal Miller straddling a steel chair, dressed in battered jeans, and a sleeveless SCW tee. Even with the dim light from the single bulb, the large bruise on his face stands out stark against his tanned skin. Still, he hasn’t turned his head, hasn’t worn a cap to hide it…if at all, he seems to be showing it off, complete with a somewhat satisfied smile along his unshaven jaw.

“…God of Wrestling tournament. Legends bracket. David Miller goes one-on-one with Shilo Valiant…and damn near dominates the match. People can open their mouths and do all they can to deny it, dispute it, turn it around, whatever. The simple fact of the matter is I had that match in the palm of my hand since the opening bell. I had Valiant’s number…and I was two seconds from dialing it in…when this happened…”

Lifting one of his folded arms, he motioned to the bruise.

Anyone watching the show knows whose handiwork this is. And if you weren’t, I’ll give you a clue…for the last three weeks, we’ve heard nothing but promises of ‘payback’ and ‘retribution’ …and apparently, this is his idea. Personally, I’m a little disappointed. For all the menace he was putting into his two-thousand Tweets a day, I expected something a little more…I don’t know…painful? …I expected broken glass or even a sledgehammer to the knee, maybe throwing me off the stage. But, nope…all I got was a steel chair in the face that never even knocked me out. Once again, Colin Cole proves just how much of a pussy he is…”

Shaking his head, Miller uses the lifted hand to sweep a palm over his buzzed hair, eyes closed almost in irritation before he gives a faint chuckle and looks back up into the camera.

And if that wasn’t enough…now I hear he’s been making demands to the Front Offices. He wants me in the ring at Ride the Lightning. He’s going to do what men twice his size and ten times his talent couldn’t do. He is going to do what Shilo Valiant, himself, wasn’t able to accomplish. He’s going to put me in my place.

“Well…that’s something of a problem, isn’t it? …because I’m already in my place. I’m racing towards it at break-neck speed, and I’m running over everyone who for some reason, be it stupidity or insanity, honestly thinks they’re going to stop me, stand in my way, or even so much as distract me. Including someone who, apparently, didn’t take to kindly to a recent Tweet of my own. And that man is Alex Desoubrais Jr
.”

Losing some of the cynical humor from before Miller’s expression hardens as he looks to the camera.

I did find something a little off about this so-called ‘challenge,’ though, Alex. See, I heard about it from Sharper, who told me you’d gotten all riled up about being called a ‘training dummy.’ That you’d demanded a chance to prove otherwise when I said anyone could beat you. But now that we’re only a few short hours away from Breakdown…I’ve yet to hear anything. I’ve scoured the SCW media site, I’ve watched the Twitter pages like a hawk…I’ve even kept an eye on Rachel. I figured since you crawled along behind her like the loyal little dog you are, if I watched her long enough, I’d eventually be able to spot you…but nope.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Miller shook his head and raised a hand in bewilderment.

Nothing. No sightings, no call-outs, nothing. It’s like you’d dropped off the face of the planet…well, even more than you already had, anyway. Or maybe nothing’s changed and it’s just the first time anyone’s really had to try and pin you down. Seriously, Junior, when was the last time you were anything but a glorified piss-break? …you come out to the ring, and as soon as people hear Keith’s voice over the speakers, it’s like a mass exodus. Hundreds of thousands of people all cramming through the doors trying to escape. To be honest, it’s actually kind of funny. Throughout your career…hell, probably all your life you’ve been doing anything and everything you could to get out from under CHBK’s shadow. You broke yourself in half to make a name of your own, to be someone other than just “Junior” …but the plan never panned out, did it?

“You’ve had some success, true…but it’s not exactly the kind of legacy your daddy’s gone and built for himself, now is it? …for instance, he was a five-time, five-time, five-time…sorry…no clue where that came from. But he was a five-time World Heavyweight Champion. Five times, AJ. And if you look at the people he took those reigns from…you see names like Lethal Weapon, Steve Griffin, Greg Cherry…people who pretty much built this company from the ground up, kid. Living legends that will be forever remembered by anyone who took the slightest interest in this company…and your father is the man that made them famous.

“That’s what you’ve been up against since day one, Alex. And I’ll give credit where due, you’ve done everything you could to get out from under that. You’ve fed off your bitter jealousy, your angst, your anger at being so much lesser than he is. Though, to be honest, simply calling you a ‘lesser talent’ is still giving you more credit than you deserve, don’t you think? …I mean, I look back through history, and I can find the SCW Adrenaline Title around your waist. Granted, there’s nothing wrong with the Adrenaline Title, I’m of a mind to chase that sucker down, myself, but Alex…you held that belt for only two weeks. Two…Weeks
!”

Casually lifting a hand, Miller held up two fingers, even further emphasizing his point.

After all the struggles, all the jealousy, all the years spent learning this business inside and out, all with the sole intent of proving that -YOU- were the most talented man in the Desoubrais family…your greatest solo accomplishment is two weeks with the Adrenaline Championship. Which, of course, is nothing more than a fucking blip next to the near-year-long run Jake Starr went on after he destroyed you at Retribution ‘09.”

Flattening the one hand, Miller raised the other, weighing them side by side like a set of old scales.

So…on the one hand, we’ve got five reigns as SCW Champion. Almost all of which lasted well over four months…and then we’ve got two weeks with the Adrenaline title. Pretty convincing proof there, Alex, I don’t see how anyone could ever assume you never stood a chance in hell of showing up daddy. But, I said that run was your best ‘solo’ showing…in fact, I’m willing to bet half the people watching this never even knew it happened, because nine-times of ten, when we think of Alex Desoubrais Jr, we think of the Tag Team division! …we think of Model Behavior. You and my old friend, Calvan Greene…wearing SCW gold for…well…a little under a month.”

Giving a slight, almost disappointed smirk, Miller dropped his arms back into their fold atop the chair.

And…to be honest…I’m pretty sure it was Greene that kept that team on top more than you, AJ. I mean, I mentioned that solo reign of yours, right? …two weeks? …and here you are, the son of the legendary CHBK, whereas Greene was some fucking retard who couldn’t do a monkey flip without landing on his head, and yet somehow…someway…he managed to win the Tag Team Tiles -TWICE- …once with you, and Mike Shadder…and then he goes and beats JASON FUCKING WHEELER…for the United States Title!”

Again, Miller brings both hands up in a ‘WTF’ gesture. When they come down again, he simply shakes his head and stares into the camera like it’s just sprouted a pair of Technicolor horns.

“…I’d ask what the hell you’ve been doing wrong, Alex, but the basic answer is you keep trying. That’s pretty much the bottom line to all this. When I called you a ‘training dummy,’ I was being NICE. When I said that anyone and everyone could beat you, I was giving a fucking history lesson! …I cannot think of one person on this roster that hasn’t laid your ass flat a couple dozen times over. And yet, you had the brilliant idea to pipe up, storm into the offices and demand me in that ring…I don’t know, Alex, I’m starting to think all those shots to the head are finally starting to catch up with you. I mean, we went down this road before…

“You do remember that, don’t you? …you just couldn’t stand the fact that daddy was asking me to help him stamp out the Infection. Couldn’t understand why he’d look to someone who’s been nothing but a fucking buzz-saw since I first stepped through those doors…rather than the plastic butter-knife you’ve been pretty much all your life. You challenged me back then, too. You had every intention of teaching me a lesson I was never going to forget. Instead…well…I won’t spoil it for you, but I distinctly remember being amazed at just how flexible you were. Seriously, I dropped you on your head and you folded up like a damned accordion
!”

A brief smile crosses Miller’s lips before he shakes his head and palms his jaw.

But here we go again. Little Alex Junior, just determined to prove how much of a bad-ass he is. I’d wish you luck, AJ, I really would, but the simple fact is I’m amazed they agreed to this. This is going to be nothing but a fucking slaughter from start to finish. Just like it was three years ago. Fact, it might even be worse…because right now, I’m in no mood to deal with you.”

Shrugging off that last comment, Miller stares into the lens.

I’m already dealing with one cockroach in Cole. I keep stomping him flat, and he just scurries off into the shadows to come back again and again. A little nip here, a scratch there. Doesn’t hurt, and if not for this last stunt of his, I’d still be ignoring him…but, he’s got my attention now. Which leaves you something of a distraction, at best…if even that. So, before I can finish what I started with Cole back at Retribution, I have to lay you flat…again…for the three-hundred-thousandth time in your career. Fine. Consider it done. We both know you won’t out-wrestle me, you won’t out-pace me, and unless you’ve lost even more brain-cells since the last time, you sure as shit won’t be stupid enough to stand in that ring and trade with me. I know you love to brawl, AJ, you think you’re the toughest bastard walking the earth, but I’ve put better men than you on their ass, so unless you stuff a few dozen rocks in your gloves…I don’t expect much…and I doubt I’ll get even half what I expect. That’s your legacy right there, AJ…you are without doubt, the joke of SCW.

“Unfortunately, I’m not in a laughing mood. I got too much shit to deal with from too many fucking directions, and having to divert even half my attention to you right now just makes me want to take you apart at the seams that much more! …you wanted the fight…well, you’re going to wind up with a fucking war.

“Don’t Believe Me
?”

Rising from the chair, Miller tries to level his usual stare into the lens, but instead, seems almost out of patience as he simply stalks up to the camera and grabs hold of the housing, ripping it off the tripod and pointing the lens so it catches his face, silhouetted by the single light behind him.

You know what…fuck it…you’re not even worth it. But Cole? …I know you’re listening, you little bastard. You saw what I did to your buddy, Morrison. You saw what I was doing to Valiant. If you want that match at Ride the Lightning so bad, I’m happy to oblige. But I’d pay close attention to Breakdown if I were you, because AJ’s going to be your stunt-double. He’s going to show you a little taste of what’s to come…

“So Watch It Happen
.”

The feed immediately cuts off.
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