Post by A.C. Smith on Oct 28, 2011 20:47:44 GMT -5
(Our scene opens today on a vibrant college campus. On the right side of the screen, we see a sign reading, "New York City College of Technology," one occasionally passed by students carrying books, bags, and laptops. Our eyes are drawn, though, to a small group of picket signs that are surrounding a brick building in the distance.
When we switch to a closer view, we see that this is a demonstration, not of the "Occupy" variety going on in Manhattan, but one with men and women in business attire that are holding empty lunchboxes in addition to their signs.
Police and other security guards are on the scene to supervise, and we see a former officer in his own right, the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith, enter the frame, taking in the protest and trying to make heads or tails of it while a quizzical look appears on his face. He's approached by a fully-uniformed cop, and the two begin to speak.)
A.C.: "What seems to be the problem here?"
Cop: "The folks at our food service company are cutting off the free-lunch service to employees next week after 15 years. Their way of cutting costs, I guess."
A.C.: "Morons. Half these teachers are part-time and can barely afford the ties their bosses make them wear."
Cop: "You're preaching to the choir, buddy. You hear to join in?"
A.C.: "No, actually. I'm doing some guest-speaking but haven't been here before. I'm looking for the student union; any chance you could point me in a direction?"
Cop: "It's on the other side of campus. I'll do you one better and walk you there myself. These guys have a point, but I could use a chance to get away for a few minutes."
A.C.: "Thanks, Officer..."
Cop: "Mitchell. Hugh Mitchell."
(Smith nods, and the two of them walk past the protesters. They get further and further into the background, and when the noise dies down, the two men speak.)
Mitchell: "So what's a wrestler doing here?"
A.C.: "Doing a favor for an old high school buddy of mine. He runs a few internship programs; I guess he wanted me there to fire up the kids."
Mitchell: "Good that you made the time, especially with your big match coming up this weekend at Hallow-Havok."
A.C.: "Oh, you're a fan, huh?"
Mitchell: (whispering) "Just keep it quiet, OK? The liberal yuppies around here won't let me hear the end of it."
(The two men chuckle, sidestepping leaves falling from trees whose branches hang over the paved pathways of the campus.)
A.C.: "It's safe with me. So you know the morons whose skulls Brian Stevens and I are going to crack, huh?"
Mitchell: "Yeah, Harrison and Storm. What's their deal, anyway?"
A.C.: "Your guess is as good as mine. I've known those guys for years. Hell, whether Evan Harrison wants to admit it or not, the two of us were practically best friends for months last year. But instead of concentrating on how, for months, he worked with me to make himself relevant in ACW, he's concentrating on how I've become, in his own words, mean and a bully.
I look forward to seeing how he justifies those remarks this week, because honestly, he doesn't have a leg to stand on. Mean and a bully? Far from it. All you can do, as a professional athlete, is go to your field of play and beat the person standing on the other end of it. And lately, that's what I've done. Guys like Hyena, Carnage, Derryk Aires, and Sang Real thought they had answers for me. Instead, they became footnotes.
When I came back, I did so with one goal in mind: To be the very best I've ever been. Hence the clause in my contract centered around the ACW World Heavyweight Championship. Circumstances aside, I put myself in a position to win it by vanquishing Hyena, a guy who hasn't been seen since, and I exited Madison Square Garden with the most prestigious prize in my business. Meanwhile, since Evan Harrison came back, he's accomplished...what, exactly?"
Mitchell: "Not much. Didn't you beat him at Struggle for Supremacy?"
(Smith nods.)
A.C.: "Like a drum. And this was after he made a point to confront me in the parking lot and tell me to my face that he'd be the one ending my title reign. Instead, I squashed Evan Harrison like a bug, and it took the guy that sent Gryphon packing to eliminate me from the Tournament of Eight.
If that was the extent of his losing, he might not be so screwed. But since that night, he's done nothing but get his ass kicked. He lost to Devon Mayhem, sure, but more embarrassingly, he lost to Nathan von Leibert not once, but twice, including once in a match he specifically requested once he realized he was losing dignity. Evan wanted to teach Nathan, someone just as overmatched in the Tournament of Eight as he was, a lesson. And the only lesson anyone got two weeks ago is that you should always, ALWAYS, get a tetanus shot."
(The two cops laugh, and Smith rolls his brown eyes before continuing.)
A.C.: "Evan probably has an excuse for all that. After all, the way he looks at the world, nothing can ever be his fault. But he should realize that the only time he's ever been relevant in ACW is when he was with me. That's not a coincidence; unlike all the other hangers-on he's ever been with, from Jess Parker, to his brother Tyler, to Jason Storm, I made him work, and when he did that, he actually started to realize his full potential. We won matches, made an impact, and it seemed like everything was going swimmingly.
Only now do I realize that us drifting apart before we each left ACW was the beginning of the end for him. Instead of having me, someone who made him work, he's got Jason Storm, an enabler who hasn't had a sanctioned match in three years. And while that union happened, I have Brian Stevens. The only and only Strong-Style Legend, and a guy who showed last week against Sang Real that he hasn't lost a step in the squared circle.
Evan said I got Brian Stevens to come back to the States because I was afraid of him. As usual, he's dead wrong. I got Brian Stevens to come back to the States because I knew I was dealing with people he could crush. He's done it his entire career, and Evan knows that first-hand. Him trying to say I got him because I was afraid of him, trying to somehow devalue me for having a better partner than he does? That's nothing short of ludicrous. Furthermore, he said it while he was several stories above me, out of reach from where I could make him pay for what he was saying."
Mitchell: "Yeah, what was with that, anyway? Where I come from, if you have a beef with someone, you settle it, and you move on."
(Smith scoffs, and a look of disdain creeps onto his face. A steely glare appears in his eyes, and his nostrils flare before he opens his mouth to speak.)
A.C.: "And Evan and Jason had no problem with that before Brian Stevens showed up. I have the scars from Storm's Singapore cane to prove it. But once I had backup? Once Jason didn't listen to Bobby and Stevie's warning about my insurance policy? They suddenly became very happy sneaking into luxury boxes as opposed to taking their physical shots at me. Funny how things work out, huh?
This Sunday, there'll be no place for Evan and Jason to hide. Myself and Brian Stevens are going to do what we do best, and that's beat the stuffing out of two punks who somehow think they're at our level, but aren't. Evan's had a lot of chances to prove that he's back and better than ever, and he's failed miserably every single time. Pointing that out doesn't make me a bully; it makes me correct. If Evan's hurt by the truth, then that's his own damn fault, because he put himself in this spot.
The facts are that he's got his undies in a bunch because when he came back, the world didn't stop and hand him everything he wanted on a silver platter. Meanwhile, when I made my return in July, I didn't just produce one of the most shocking moments in ACW history. I made myself better because I HAD to. Evan hasn't done that yet. He's the same guy who left ACW bitterly earlier this year, and that's NOT a good thing for him."
(The two men abruptly stop at a building marked, "Student Union." However, they come to a sign reading the words, â"Panel rescheduled for 2:30." A digital clock on the nearby wall reads 1:55, and Smith chuckles before sagging his shoulders.)
A.C.: "God forbid the guy actually tell me it got moved back half an hour."
Mitchell: "That'd be too easy. So what about Storm?"
A.C.: "What about him?"
(A.C.'s nonchalance takes the uniformed officer off-guard.)
Mitchell: "Well, the last time you guys faced off, he knocked you out."
A.C.: "Yep, he did. And if we were talking about someone normal, you would've just saved him 20 minutes of blowing hot air out of his mouth talking about it. But he'll keep rambling about it, I'm sure. Here's the thing, though. What he always likes to overlook is that that match was over three and a half years ago. Since then, I've evolved. I've gotten better, I've ended careers, and the A.C. Smith of 2008 wouldn't last five minutes with the one you're talking to right now.
The new A.C. Smith sent Mike Voland and Kyle Travis, both former ACW World Heavyweight Champions, into tailspins their careers may never recover from. The new A.C. Smith countered the Injection, handing Snake one of the few clean losses of his ACW career. And what the new A.C. Smith is capable of renders the events of Vortex 2008...absolutely meaningless.
But you know what? If he wants to bring that up, I'll actually pay attention and humor him. Why? Because it allows me to present the case of Logan Alexander to him. The guy who beat Storm for the title Low handed him, something he's never brought to the table before. Think Storm wants to remember what I did to him earlier this year? Here's a refresher: In a triangle match that also included Shane Brooks, I won the ACW United States Championship. Brooks rode off into the sunset a few months later, gracefully and with class. Logan? He went off crying to his mommy in one of the most legendary fits ever thrown, and hasn't been seen since.
What's Jason Storm done in the past three years, other than learn how to hit someone with a Singapore cane? There's more rust on him than on the 1992 Ford Tempo I parked next to in the parking lot. The only time he's tried to pounce has been when my guard's down. After a match with Jeff Purse. In the parking lot when I looked the other way. Think he was gonna try anything with Brian Stevens in the vicinity to watch my back?"
(Smith shakes his head.)
A.C.: "No sir. Like his new buddy Evan, he was happy enough with his Statler and Waldorf routine last week. He wanted no part of a situation he couldn't benefit from, and given how he ran his mouth two weeks ago, it's his own fault that he's there. He had his chance to settle things like a man, like someone who had some grasp of respect. But he chose to flap his gums about me being a fraud, about how he didn't like the way I did things, about my ex...and he signed his own death warrant in the process.
If he handles himself like a human being two weeks ago, we're not in this situation right now. Brian Stevens stays in a secure location, leaves the arena sight unseen, and nobody even knows he was in North America that night. But instead, Jason Storm turned my attempt at a peace summit into a Johnson-measuring contest, and now that I've leveled the playing field and found the man that can turn him into a non-factor, he'd better be prepared for some well-deserved revenge.
Hell, even Evan Harrison, whose mental capacities I questioned just moments ago, knew better than to egg me on when I warned them about my insurance policy. He was trying to shut Storm up and get him to listen to me the entire time we were in the ring together. And that's because, deep down, Harrison knows that Brian Stevens and myself are capable of doing things he and Jason can't. It could be because Brian's had a match back to get his feet wet. It could be because I'm just plain better than them. It could be because Storm isn't ready for what's coming this weekend. Take your pick, really; they're all valid reasons."
(We hear a commotion from off-screen. Both men's heads turn, and we hear the faint squeals of a police siren.)
A.C.: "Let me guess: They're throwing their lunchboxes?"
Mitchell: "You ever been hit with one that's got one of those ice packs in it? Those hurt. And I should go."
A.C.: "Sure. Thanks for the help getting here!"
Mitchell: "No problem. Give those morons hell Sunday, alright?"
(The two men nod at each other, and a slight smile forms along Smith's lips as he mumbles something to himself.)
A.C.: "Believe me...NOBODY wants that more than yours truly."
(Smith turns, opening the glass door to the student union and walking in as the scene fades to black.)
**Edited for board coding error by Staff
When we switch to a closer view, we see that this is a demonstration, not of the "Occupy" variety going on in Manhattan, but one with men and women in business attire that are holding empty lunchboxes in addition to their signs.
Police and other security guards are on the scene to supervise, and we see a former officer in his own right, the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith, enter the frame, taking in the protest and trying to make heads or tails of it while a quizzical look appears on his face. He's approached by a fully-uniformed cop, and the two begin to speak.)
A.C.: "What seems to be the problem here?"
Cop: "The folks at our food service company are cutting off the free-lunch service to employees next week after 15 years. Their way of cutting costs, I guess."
A.C.: "Morons. Half these teachers are part-time and can barely afford the ties their bosses make them wear."
Cop: "You're preaching to the choir, buddy. You hear to join in?"
A.C.: "No, actually. I'm doing some guest-speaking but haven't been here before. I'm looking for the student union; any chance you could point me in a direction?"
Cop: "It's on the other side of campus. I'll do you one better and walk you there myself. These guys have a point, but I could use a chance to get away for a few minutes."
A.C.: "Thanks, Officer..."
Cop: "Mitchell. Hugh Mitchell."
(Smith nods, and the two of them walk past the protesters. They get further and further into the background, and when the noise dies down, the two men speak.)
Mitchell: "So what's a wrestler doing here?"
A.C.: "Doing a favor for an old high school buddy of mine. He runs a few internship programs; I guess he wanted me there to fire up the kids."
Mitchell: "Good that you made the time, especially with your big match coming up this weekend at Hallow-Havok."
A.C.: "Oh, you're a fan, huh?"
Mitchell: (whispering) "Just keep it quiet, OK? The liberal yuppies around here won't let me hear the end of it."
(The two men chuckle, sidestepping leaves falling from trees whose branches hang over the paved pathways of the campus.)
A.C.: "It's safe with me. So you know the morons whose skulls Brian Stevens and I are going to crack, huh?"
Mitchell: "Yeah, Harrison and Storm. What's their deal, anyway?"
A.C.: "Your guess is as good as mine. I've known those guys for years. Hell, whether Evan Harrison wants to admit it or not, the two of us were practically best friends for months last year. But instead of concentrating on how, for months, he worked with me to make himself relevant in ACW, he's concentrating on how I've become, in his own words, mean and a bully.
I look forward to seeing how he justifies those remarks this week, because honestly, he doesn't have a leg to stand on. Mean and a bully? Far from it. All you can do, as a professional athlete, is go to your field of play and beat the person standing on the other end of it. And lately, that's what I've done. Guys like Hyena, Carnage, Derryk Aires, and Sang Real thought they had answers for me. Instead, they became footnotes.
When I came back, I did so with one goal in mind: To be the very best I've ever been. Hence the clause in my contract centered around the ACW World Heavyweight Championship. Circumstances aside, I put myself in a position to win it by vanquishing Hyena, a guy who hasn't been seen since, and I exited Madison Square Garden with the most prestigious prize in my business. Meanwhile, since Evan Harrison came back, he's accomplished...what, exactly?"
Mitchell: "Not much. Didn't you beat him at Struggle for Supremacy?"
(Smith nods.)
A.C.: "Like a drum. And this was after he made a point to confront me in the parking lot and tell me to my face that he'd be the one ending my title reign. Instead, I squashed Evan Harrison like a bug, and it took the guy that sent Gryphon packing to eliminate me from the Tournament of Eight.
If that was the extent of his losing, he might not be so screwed. But since that night, he's done nothing but get his ass kicked. He lost to Devon Mayhem, sure, but more embarrassingly, he lost to Nathan von Leibert not once, but twice, including once in a match he specifically requested once he realized he was losing dignity. Evan wanted to teach Nathan, someone just as overmatched in the Tournament of Eight as he was, a lesson. And the only lesson anyone got two weeks ago is that you should always, ALWAYS, get a tetanus shot."
(The two cops laugh, and Smith rolls his brown eyes before continuing.)
A.C.: "Evan probably has an excuse for all that. After all, the way he looks at the world, nothing can ever be his fault. But he should realize that the only time he's ever been relevant in ACW is when he was with me. That's not a coincidence; unlike all the other hangers-on he's ever been with, from Jess Parker, to his brother Tyler, to Jason Storm, I made him work, and when he did that, he actually started to realize his full potential. We won matches, made an impact, and it seemed like everything was going swimmingly.
Only now do I realize that us drifting apart before we each left ACW was the beginning of the end for him. Instead of having me, someone who made him work, he's got Jason Storm, an enabler who hasn't had a sanctioned match in three years. And while that union happened, I have Brian Stevens. The only and only Strong-Style Legend, and a guy who showed last week against Sang Real that he hasn't lost a step in the squared circle.
Evan said I got Brian Stevens to come back to the States because I was afraid of him. As usual, he's dead wrong. I got Brian Stevens to come back to the States because I knew I was dealing with people he could crush. He's done it his entire career, and Evan knows that first-hand. Him trying to say I got him because I was afraid of him, trying to somehow devalue me for having a better partner than he does? That's nothing short of ludicrous. Furthermore, he said it while he was several stories above me, out of reach from where I could make him pay for what he was saying."
Mitchell: "Yeah, what was with that, anyway? Where I come from, if you have a beef with someone, you settle it, and you move on."
(Smith scoffs, and a look of disdain creeps onto his face. A steely glare appears in his eyes, and his nostrils flare before he opens his mouth to speak.)
A.C.: "And Evan and Jason had no problem with that before Brian Stevens showed up. I have the scars from Storm's Singapore cane to prove it. But once I had backup? Once Jason didn't listen to Bobby and Stevie's warning about my insurance policy? They suddenly became very happy sneaking into luxury boxes as opposed to taking their physical shots at me. Funny how things work out, huh?
This Sunday, there'll be no place for Evan and Jason to hide. Myself and Brian Stevens are going to do what we do best, and that's beat the stuffing out of two punks who somehow think they're at our level, but aren't. Evan's had a lot of chances to prove that he's back and better than ever, and he's failed miserably every single time. Pointing that out doesn't make me a bully; it makes me correct. If Evan's hurt by the truth, then that's his own damn fault, because he put himself in this spot.
The facts are that he's got his undies in a bunch because when he came back, the world didn't stop and hand him everything he wanted on a silver platter. Meanwhile, when I made my return in July, I didn't just produce one of the most shocking moments in ACW history. I made myself better because I HAD to. Evan hasn't done that yet. He's the same guy who left ACW bitterly earlier this year, and that's NOT a good thing for him."
(The two men abruptly stop at a building marked, "Student Union." However, they come to a sign reading the words, â"Panel rescheduled for 2:30." A digital clock on the nearby wall reads 1:55, and Smith chuckles before sagging his shoulders.)
A.C.: "God forbid the guy actually tell me it got moved back half an hour."
Mitchell: "That'd be too easy. So what about Storm?"
A.C.: "What about him?"
(A.C.'s nonchalance takes the uniformed officer off-guard.)
Mitchell: "Well, the last time you guys faced off, he knocked you out."
A.C.: "Yep, he did. And if we were talking about someone normal, you would've just saved him 20 minutes of blowing hot air out of his mouth talking about it. But he'll keep rambling about it, I'm sure. Here's the thing, though. What he always likes to overlook is that that match was over three and a half years ago. Since then, I've evolved. I've gotten better, I've ended careers, and the A.C. Smith of 2008 wouldn't last five minutes with the one you're talking to right now.
The new A.C. Smith sent Mike Voland and Kyle Travis, both former ACW World Heavyweight Champions, into tailspins their careers may never recover from. The new A.C. Smith countered the Injection, handing Snake one of the few clean losses of his ACW career. And what the new A.C. Smith is capable of renders the events of Vortex 2008...absolutely meaningless.
But you know what? If he wants to bring that up, I'll actually pay attention and humor him. Why? Because it allows me to present the case of Logan Alexander to him. The guy who beat Storm for the title Low handed him, something he's never brought to the table before. Think Storm wants to remember what I did to him earlier this year? Here's a refresher: In a triangle match that also included Shane Brooks, I won the ACW United States Championship. Brooks rode off into the sunset a few months later, gracefully and with class. Logan? He went off crying to his mommy in one of the most legendary fits ever thrown, and hasn't been seen since.
What's Jason Storm done in the past three years, other than learn how to hit someone with a Singapore cane? There's more rust on him than on the 1992 Ford Tempo I parked next to in the parking lot. The only time he's tried to pounce has been when my guard's down. After a match with Jeff Purse. In the parking lot when I looked the other way. Think he was gonna try anything with Brian Stevens in the vicinity to watch my back?"
(Smith shakes his head.)
A.C.: "No sir. Like his new buddy Evan, he was happy enough with his Statler and Waldorf routine last week. He wanted no part of a situation he couldn't benefit from, and given how he ran his mouth two weeks ago, it's his own fault that he's there. He had his chance to settle things like a man, like someone who had some grasp of respect. But he chose to flap his gums about me being a fraud, about how he didn't like the way I did things, about my ex...and he signed his own death warrant in the process.
If he handles himself like a human being two weeks ago, we're not in this situation right now. Brian Stevens stays in a secure location, leaves the arena sight unseen, and nobody even knows he was in North America that night. But instead, Jason Storm turned my attempt at a peace summit into a Johnson-measuring contest, and now that I've leveled the playing field and found the man that can turn him into a non-factor, he'd better be prepared for some well-deserved revenge.
Hell, even Evan Harrison, whose mental capacities I questioned just moments ago, knew better than to egg me on when I warned them about my insurance policy. He was trying to shut Storm up and get him to listen to me the entire time we were in the ring together. And that's because, deep down, Harrison knows that Brian Stevens and myself are capable of doing things he and Jason can't. It could be because Brian's had a match back to get his feet wet. It could be because I'm just plain better than them. It could be because Storm isn't ready for what's coming this weekend. Take your pick, really; they're all valid reasons."
(We hear a commotion from off-screen. Both men's heads turn, and we hear the faint squeals of a police siren.)
A.C.: "Let me guess: They're throwing their lunchboxes?"
Mitchell: "You ever been hit with one that's got one of those ice packs in it? Those hurt. And I should go."
A.C.: "Sure. Thanks for the help getting here!"
Mitchell: "No problem. Give those morons hell Sunday, alright?"
(The two men nod at each other, and a slight smile forms along Smith's lips as he mumbles something to himself.)
A.C.: "Believe me...NOBODY wants that more than yours truly."
(Smith turns, opening the glass door to the student union and walking in as the scene fades to black.)
**Edited for board coding error by Staff