Post by Zack Fantana on Nov 13, 2016 13:07:49 GMT -5
The camera pans around a rather large corridor until it finds Zack Fantana standing solemnly with the silver attaché case he was awarded at Massacre #1. Our protagonist and hero stands alone, facing a set of 8-panel oak double doors.
"I've got to say, I expected a challenge for my first title defense, but never this. Despite defeating four of the top competitors in the Resilience division on the inaugural edition of Massacre, I've been tasked with outlasting ten this time around. It's the People versus Zack Fantana."
Zack gives the camera a nod before opening the double doors. He saunters down the aisleway between the pews in the courtroom gallery, the camera tracking him every step of the way. Once he reaches bar at the end of the aisleway, he gently opens the gate and steps forward to the defendant's table. Fantana plops the silver attaché case onto the table and spins around to face the camera once more.
"With ten to one odds, I've essentially been challenged to prove that I am far and away the best fighter in the Resilience division. Well, in a court of law, the burden of proof is laid at the feet of the prosecution."
Fantana points to the plaintiff's table, revealing a rouges' gallery of his opponents in the form of ten life-size cardboard cutouts.
"But that's not how it works in the A.W.E. Not in the Resilience division. The champion must prove his mettle each and every show. I for one will not shy away from that responsibility. If the powers that be want me to prove my superiority over every member of this division, that's what I'll be doing. You want proof that I'm the best?"
Zack brushes the camera man off and over into the juror's box as he collects the attaché case off the table and brings it over towards the camera.
"A simpler man might look for the evidence inside this case."
Zack clicks the case open and showcases it for the camera to see.
"But as you can see, it's emptier than Benny Stevens's bank account."
With an annoyed sigh, Zack snaps the case closed and tosses it on the plaintiff's table.
"This title thief probably thinks they pulled one over on me. They must think they've stolen my thunder."
Fantana wags his index finger back and forth.
"All they've done is prove themselves desperate beyond all measure, because as we know, I already have your attention. Alas, I don't need a physical championship belt to be recognized as the class of the division. Just have a listen to any of my peers in the Resilience division and you'll soon see that they know exactly who the top dog is. Everybody is talking about me, just as it should be. It's a far cry from the early days when Benny and Carmen were so busy staring longingly into one another's eyes that they nearly forgot I was booked in the match. Seriously, I think Benny suffered some blunt force trauma from the sexual tension between them, but by the end of Massacre #1, I had everybody's attention. I think we've all learned our lesson, haven't we?"
Zack crosses the room to stand in front of the plaintiff's table.
"The lesson being: I run this division. Some of you are slower to pick up on that than others. Take for instance, Mr. S.O.B."
He throws his arm around the shoulders of the S.O.B. cardboard cutout.
"This S.O.B. - he's a funny man, daring me to write him a letter. But don't you remember, Sammy? I've already written you a letter. It was the letter 'L' and I handed it to you personally in the main event at Massacre #1. Now you're begging for another? Don't you get greedy on me, Sam."
Zack thumps the cardboard cutout on the chest and gazes back into the camera's lens.
"Despite all his hostility, even the pretend thug S.O.B. clearly recognizes who the man at the top is. He has already stated that his singular goal in this Royal Rumble is to eliminate me. Well, flattery will get you nowhere, big fella."
With a smile, Zack relinquishes his grip on the cardboard cutout, sending it toppling to the floor before turning around to face the stately Thomas Shane Elliot cardboard cutout behind the bench.
"I mean, did you hear that, boss? Eliminating me has become a bigger accomplishment than winning the Resilience championship itself. By the time you actually get around to commissioning a new title belt, you'll have to print my face on it to up its value. Don't worry, Thomas, I'm a generous man. I'll give you the company discount on using my likeness."
Cardboard Thomas Shane Elliot seems largely at peace with this condition.
"You seem awfully content to hear that, Mr. Elliot, but you must know that Akoo Stiks money won't be there forever to cover your mistakes."
For some reason, Zack still appears to be dismayed that the cardboard Elliot hasn't cracked.
"Perhaps you think you've cornered me. You think you've got the leverage because you've got the booking power. But there's a saying in combat sports - never leave it in the hands of the judges."
Zack casually walks along the bench and plops himself into the witness chair.
"I don't plan on it. The spotlight may not be a good thing to have in a match like this, but trust me, I'm not uncomfortable under its glow. Put me on that stage and I'll prove just why I am the uncrowned king of the Resilience division. If you all want to see a fighting champion, just tune in next Sunday. Witness me. Because I promise you..."
Fantana places his hand on the Bible sitting before him.
"I'm not walking away until I get what's mine."
Zack stands out of the chair and picks up the silver case on his way toward the door.
"The defense rests."
"I've got to say, I expected a challenge for my first title defense, but never this. Despite defeating four of the top competitors in the Resilience division on the inaugural edition of Massacre, I've been tasked with outlasting ten this time around. It's the People versus Zack Fantana."
Zack gives the camera a nod before opening the double doors. He saunters down the aisleway between the pews in the courtroom gallery, the camera tracking him every step of the way. Once he reaches bar at the end of the aisleway, he gently opens the gate and steps forward to the defendant's table. Fantana plops the silver attaché case onto the table and spins around to face the camera once more.
"With ten to one odds, I've essentially been challenged to prove that I am far and away the best fighter in the Resilience division. Well, in a court of law, the burden of proof is laid at the feet of the prosecution."
Fantana points to the plaintiff's table, revealing a rouges' gallery of his opponents in the form of ten life-size cardboard cutouts.
"But that's not how it works in the A.W.E. Not in the Resilience division. The champion must prove his mettle each and every show. I for one will not shy away from that responsibility. If the powers that be want me to prove my superiority over every member of this division, that's what I'll be doing. You want proof that I'm the best?"
Zack brushes the camera man off and over into the juror's box as he collects the attaché case off the table and brings it over towards the camera.
"A simpler man might look for the evidence inside this case."
Zack clicks the case open and showcases it for the camera to see.
"But as you can see, it's emptier than Benny Stevens's bank account."
With an annoyed sigh, Zack snaps the case closed and tosses it on the plaintiff's table.
"This title thief probably thinks they pulled one over on me. They must think they've stolen my thunder."
Fantana wags his index finger back and forth.
"All they've done is prove themselves desperate beyond all measure, because as we know, I already have your attention. Alas, I don't need a physical championship belt to be recognized as the class of the division. Just have a listen to any of my peers in the Resilience division and you'll soon see that they know exactly who the top dog is. Everybody is talking about me, just as it should be. It's a far cry from the early days when Benny and Carmen were so busy staring longingly into one another's eyes that they nearly forgot I was booked in the match. Seriously, I think Benny suffered some blunt force trauma from the sexual tension between them, but by the end of Massacre #1, I had everybody's attention. I think we've all learned our lesson, haven't we?"
Zack crosses the room to stand in front of the plaintiff's table.
"The lesson being: I run this division. Some of you are slower to pick up on that than others. Take for instance, Mr. S.O.B."
He throws his arm around the shoulders of the S.O.B. cardboard cutout.
"This S.O.B. - he's a funny man, daring me to write him a letter. But don't you remember, Sammy? I've already written you a letter. It was the letter 'L' and I handed it to you personally in the main event at Massacre #1. Now you're begging for another? Don't you get greedy on me, Sam."
Zack thumps the cardboard cutout on the chest and gazes back into the camera's lens.
"Despite all his hostility, even the pretend thug S.O.B. clearly recognizes who the man at the top is. He has already stated that his singular goal in this Royal Rumble is to eliminate me. Well, flattery will get you nowhere, big fella."
With a smile, Zack relinquishes his grip on the cardboard cutout, sending it toppling to the floor before turning around to face the stately Thomas Shane Elliot cardboard cutout behind the bench.
"I mean, did you hear that, boss? Eliminating me has become a bigger accomplishment than winning the Resilience championship itself. By the time you actually get around to commissioning a new title belt, you'll have to print my face on it to up its value. Don't worry, Thomas, I'm a generous man. I'll give you the company discount on using my likeness."
Cardboard Thomas Shane Elliot seems largely at peace with this condition.
"You seem awfully content to hear that, Mr. Elliot, but you must know that Akoo Stiks money won't be there forever to cover your mistakes."
For some reason, Zack still appears to be dismayed that the cardboard Elliot hasn't cracked.
"Perhaps you think you've cornered me. You think you've got the leverage because you've got the booking power. But there's a saying in combat sports - never leave it in the hands of the judges."
Zack casually walks along the bench and plops himself into the witness chair.
"I don't plan on it. The spotlight may not be a good thing to have in a match like this, but trust me, I'm not uncomfortable under its glow. Put me on that stage and I'll prove just why I am the uncrowned king of the Resilience division. If you all want to see a fighting champion, just tune in next Sunday. Witness me. Because I promise you..."
Fantana places his hand on the Bible sitting before him.
"I'm not walking away until I get what's mine."
Zack stands out of the chair and picks up the silver case on his way toward the door.
"The defense rests."