NOBODY vs. SMITH

[coreycz]

Quarter Finals Singles Match - Replacement Match
Nobody
vs
"Handsome" Harry Smith

[pete]

As Handsome Harry Smith[/b] thanked the driver and stepped off the bus, he was relieved that at least one thing was the same as back home: no matter where you were in the world, you could always count on a bus to drop you off outside a pub. Although they called them bars here... Harry[/b] didn't mind, though. As long as they could serve him a pint of lager, he did not give a toss what they were called.

As he began to make his way up the path towards the entrance door, he kept his brother Bill[/b] up to date on the latest occurrences in Hollywood Elite Wrestling[/b]:

Handsome Harry Smith: No, I didn't win...no, you didn't 'tell me', Billy! It's not like that! I didn't win, but I did great. You should have seen me, mate! Only reason I didn't win is because they wanted to push that bloke, Zero. But I can't have done that badly - they gave me a shot at their other title this week!

Harry[/b] pauses a minute, as his brother replies, then resumes:

Smith: Yer, you know how it is...small company...everyone ends up getting a shot eventually! I just wish they were on TV so you could see me!

Another pause, then:

Smith: What? Who's it against? Nobody! *chuckling* No, the guy's called Nobody! Yeah. Some nutter...

As he once again listens to Bill[/b]'s reply, the Englishman notices he has accidentally wandered into the path of a camera, being used by a vaguely familiar young fellow to shoot two other guys, who are straddling imposing-looking 'road hogs'. Harry[/b] smirks apologetically, quickly stepping out of frame as he enters the bar, still chatting away on his phone. He does not have more than a few seconds to appraise his surroundings, however - the jukebox blaring AC/DC's 'Highway To Hell', the long counter on one side with its assortment of drunks, the pool table across from it, everything so similar to the pubs back home - before he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. A moment later, his world spins around, and the cute blondie smiling at him from the corner is replaced with two very angry, decidedly male faces. Sensing trouble, Harry[/b] hastily tries to sign off from his brother:

Smith: Listen, Billy, i'm gonna have to call you ba--

That is as far as he gets before a fist makes contact with his jaw, causing the phone to leap from his hand and shatter on the stone floor. Reeling slightly, but managing not to fall, Harry[/b] incredulously looks from his assailant, one of the bikers who had been filming outside earlier, to the smashed phone, and back again. At that moment, something snaps inside of him, the world dissolving into shades of red, his usually pleasant voice turning into a guttural growl:

Smith: That. Was. My. BROTHER!

Without another world, he leaps at his attackers, not even thinking of the odds, thinking only of taking them down and inflicting as much pain as possible, with little regard for his own physical health. His senses shut down, and he can no longer hear the commotion going on around him. The women screaming, the men egging him on, the hard rock tune booming in the speakers, the bouncer telling them to cool it...all that is lost to him. He sees only two targets to hit, hit, hit. He feels his strength begin to wane, his assailants overpower him, but still he knows that he cannot stop, must not stop, if he stops he is defeated. A fist crunches against his jaw, but still he manages to stay afoot. He staggers forward groggily, and tries to throw a jab, but knows before it leaves his shoulder that it is not going to land.

After that, there is only blackness, and the sound of sirens.

[Heisenberg]

The camera is filming a seemingly empty room. There is a barstool in the middle, spotlighted. And on it sits a man already known from the last HEW show, getting ready to cut a promo for the newly established federation's upcoming show.

Nobody:
Sometimes.. winning a match doesn't equal making a statement. Being the.. so-called best on the paper doesn't write your name down in the history books. Being the one who did things remembered by people makes you a legend. It makes you the exact opposite of my wrestling name. The opposite of a nobody. You're not just somebody, you suddenly become a person no one will ever forget. Now that I have told you this boring.. intro.. to my little speech, let's say that you may have noticed that I act in a similar manner. Let's say you may have finally found out what kind of a person I truly am, regardless of my identity. Maybe, if I revealed who I am days ago, maybe you'd think I'm faking it. Maybe you'd think I'm playing mind games. Maybe you'd think I'm trying to step into your minds. But I'm not. I'm here, I'm being myself. You see, it's not about winning matches. It's all about the feeling you leave in the air when you leave the arena. When the bell rings and the match ends, the announcer announces the winner, the true winner is the one people keep thinking about. Guess who that was. NOBODY.

Nobody starts laughing.

Jesus. Did you really think I was going to give up? No. Not at all. I may have stolen the upcoming sentence from a certain someone, but.. I never give up! That doesn't just mean you can't beat me in a match. Because from what I have seen, yes, you can. I lost my match. But guess what! I almost ended up having that damn title around my waist after all. But I'm a man with honor. A man who requests respect and respects the business in return. I'm a man who was, if you ask me, chosen and destined to be perfect, for you can do wonders with your mind.. if you choose to do so. Have you chosen to do so? I have. And I have done wonders. Many wonders. Like that bloodied son of a bitch laying on the mat who might have lost the title, if I didn't break the pin myself. Yes, that would be too damn easy, I'm not a coward. You're not a champion if you win the title on the floor of a parking lot or what the hell was that place. You're the champion when you win that damn title in the middle of the fuckin' ring and shove the golden belt with your name engraved on it into people's faces. THAT makes you a champion.

The beauty of my hidden identity. Is.. my mask. To be precise, well, it has a default facial expression. A smile. A sinister, psychotic smile, a smile you won't be able to forget till the end of time. And I personally LOVE it. For you.. will never know if I'm smiling, if I'm angry, after all, I talk through a voice changer, so you may not even know what does my voice sound like. It leaves me an open field to show you what I am all about. And bang! The management immediately gave me an opportunity to fight in the 'big league'. You know what, Zero? Enjoy your little toy belt. Let me chase the big one, as I leave my foes in blood lakes and make the little children in the audience unforgettable traumas and fuck up their psyches. As the young weird hipsters would say, and I don't know why am I about to say that sentence, "peace out". That was pretty sarcastic, wasn't it? Haha.

The feed cuts off.