Post by noir on Nov 13, 2008 10:03:56 GMT -6
[Fade in a simple dark room. The Man they call Noir is standing in the middle of the room, with a calm look in his face. He starts speaking in a rough tone]
It's funny, you know. I was dead last week, and now I'm alive. I was dead... and now I'm alive. I could've gone either way. I could've stared down that dark tunnel and did my time. I could have crawled away like a broken, beaten little dog. I could've just... given up and croaked. But there was something... something was pulling me back. No matter how many steps I took forward. No matter how many times I pushed and shoved my ass down that tunnel, there was something on my heels, reaching, clawing, digging into my legs and pulling me right back.
Can you figure out what it is, Derek Sitar?
Can you figure out why it is that Noir has come back from the dead?
See, there's a question here. There's a question of whether or not I really died. There's a question of whether or not the promo we heard on Disclosure, the spoken words of a dead man, were even true at all. Yes, they had the ring of truth. Yes, we saw Noir, looking good and standing tall in the middle of that room... but was that wishful thinking? Was it wishful thinking on our part? Did we want Noir to come in this company? Did we want to see him at his former glory so... badly... that we convinced ourselves that the man who stood in that ring, the man who spoke those words... was really who we thought it was?
And that's why you're here, Derek Sitar. That's why you're here...
... You see, Sitar, you're here not because you have particularly earned your opportunity. You're not here because someone in the office thinks you're particularly good at what you do. You're not even hear to make sure I look good on Disclosure, so that the boss can make some noise about a potential Noir versus The World Champion match. You're not even hear to learn from me, to clean my shoes and suffer the fate of another bitch for Noir to fuck over and toss away. You're not even here for that, Derek, what you're here for... is one simple thing.
To prove a point.
You see, there is a point that needs to be proven, kiddo. There's a point here, and that point is... can Noir still do it? Can he still hang in there? Can Noir take this punk ass no talent havin', lucky booking mother fucker down to the mat, one, two, three? Can Noir, the man who more men fear than Lorena Bobbit, still go out into the middle of that ring, and prove that he's the best there is in this sport we call professional wrestling.
And it's a question, Derek. It's a damn good question. It's a question you're going to have to answer yourself on Disclosure. It's a question you're going to have to ask God when you see His face shining down on you, telling you it's time to join Him. It's a question that you will ask yourself along with all of the others--”Am I gonna be okay? Am I stupid? Did I have to do this? Did I really think I could beat The Almighty himself Noir?”
And... that will be your cross to bear, kiddo. All I can tell you—all I can say about you—is that you're going to have the fight of your life on your hands. You can go ahead and laugh it off. You can go ahead and tell every prick you know that Noir doesn't have it anymore. You can go ahead and tell everyone you know that
Noir is washed up, he's a hack, he's a fucking drunk, he's someone you're going to steamroll over like every other pathetic piece of shit victory you've had in the pile of crap you call a career. You can say all of these things, Derek, but it's not going to hide the truth from me. And it's not going to hide the truth from anyone else in the federation...
... That truth, Derek, is that you're facing down the jaws of oblivion, and you just pissed your fucking pants.
... You.
It must piss you off, Derek. It must piss you off that you drew the short end of the stick. It must piss you off that, when your music plays and you're facing down that curtain, you're going to be walking out to what will be your funeral march. It must piss you off that when you walk out to that ring, you're going to be looking inside it... and you're going to find not a man. You're not gonna find a man standing in the middle of that ring, Derek, what you're gonna find is a beast. A beast who has woken up, a beast that is opening its black, gaping jaws, and a beast that is prepared and fucking eager to swallow your bony white ass whole.
So what happens now, Derek? What do you do now? Do you collect your check and run for the hills? Do you fly to another country where I can't find you? Do you just get the hell out of Town or... do you stick it out?
Do you sit in your locker room, surrounded by the other boys, and do you try to laugh it off? Do you joke about how such an easy time will be had when you have to fight me, the Night King? Do you try and bury the look of fear in your eyes? This is only your first match in the fed, Derek, and you know, just as well as I do, that you've never faced a challenge like this before. You know, just as well as I do, that those previous wins you had did nothing to prepare you for the hole you now find yourself tumbling downward.
The clock is ticking, kiddo. The clock is fuckin' ticking. It's counting down to midnight, Derek, and no longer will you be able to usurp the talent. No longer will you be able to drink of the cup, no longer will you have the chance to fight back. No longer, Derek, will the people give a flying fuck who you are. The clock is ticking to zero, t-minus ten and counting, kiddo, and it's only a matter of time between when your music hits, and when the thumping hand of a referee counts your shoulders down to the mat... one... two... three. It's only a matter of time, Derek, until the fans, the people, the people who pay your salary finally wake up from this coma they've been living in. And when they wake up, Derek, you're going to be gone. You'll be lost in a hazy memory, like a dream you forget upon waking. You'll be nothing more than that, Derek. A hazy dream that one recalls every few years, if only for the briefest of times.
Are you ready for that, Derek? Are you ready for that clock to strike zero? You've hit the reset buttons on your fifteen minutes too many times, Derek, and now it's time for you to finally acknowledge that I've come home. It's time for you and all of the motherfuckers who doubted me, all the motherfuckers who think they can walk all over me, it's time for you to take your place in the Night King's throne room. It's time for you to get on your knees, and bow. It's time for you, Derek, to kiss the fucking ring, in so much you might be spared.
Oh what the hell am I talking about? I know just as well as you do, Derek, that there isn't a chance in hell you're walking out of the match a winner, with your head held high. The truth is, Derek, the most you can hope for... is walking out of the match at all.
So tell me, Derek, will you find joy in your new home? Will you find joy in the court of the Night King? Will you finally stand before Noir, knees buckling, barely able to support you, and finally kneel in awe of what I am? What the Almighty has brought back to the world? Will you kneel in awe, and will you fall? I think you will.
Everybody does, Derek. Everybody falls. The only question is... can you find peace with it? Can you make your peace with the dark place I'll be leaving you in, can you find peace when you're staring up at those bright lights, your vision blurring, your vision dimming? Can you find peace, and even smile, when you're finally sent to the place you belong? When you're finally sent out of my sight, out of my Federation?
It's coming, Derek, and there's nothing that can stop it now. So when you're left lying, broken, staring up at the Night King with his foot planted on your chest, when you're finally looking at me as not an enemy, but a man who has saved you from a life of lies, from a life of false hopes that you could ever be better than Noir... will you thank me? I hope you do, Derek. I hope you thank me as the curtains of darkness fall over your eyes, and the last image you see is the blinding light, with my shadow cast over you. I hope that you thank me as I finally make you Fade...
... to Black.
[Fade to Black]
It's funny, you know. I was dead last week, and now I'm alive. I was dead... and now I'm alive. I could've gone either way. I could've stared down that dark tunnel and did my time. I could have crawled away like a broken, beaten little dog. I could've just... given up and croaked. But there was something... something was pulling me back. No matter how many steps I took forward. No matter how many times I pushed and shoved my ass down that tunnel, there was something on my heels, reaching, clawing, digging into my legs and pulling me right back.
Can you figure out what it is, Derek Sitar?
Can you figure out why it is that Noir has come back from the dead?
See, there's a question here. There's a question of whether or not I really died. There's a question of whether or not the promo we heard on Disclosure, the spoken words of a dead man, were even true at all. Yes, they had the ring of truth. Yes, we saw Noir, looking good and standing tall in the middle of that room... but was that wishful thinking? Was it wishful thinking on our part? Did we want Noir to come in this company? Did we want to see him at his former glory so... badly... that we convinced ourselves that the man who stood in that ring, the man who spoke those words... was really who we thought it was?
And that's why you're here, Derek Sitar. That's why you're here...
... You see, Sitar, you're here not because you have particularly earned your opportunity. You're not here because someone in the office thinks you're particularly good at what you do. You're not even hear to make sure I look good on Disclosure, so that the boss can make some noise about a potential Noir versus The World Champion match. You're not even hear to learn from me, to clean my shoes and suffer the fate of another bitch for Noir to fuck over and toss away. You're not even here for that, Derek, what you're here for... is one simple thing.
To prove a point.
You see, there is a point that needs to be proven, kiddo. There's a point here, and that point is... can Noir still do it? Can he still hang in there? Can Noir take this punk ass no talent havin', lucky booking mother fucker down to the mat, one, two, three? Can Noir, the man who more men fear than Lorena Bobbit, still go out into the middle of that ring, and prove that he's the best there is in this sport we call professional wrestling.
And it's a question, Derek. It's a damn good question. It's a question you're going to have to answer yourself on Disclosure. It's a question you're going to have to ask God when you see His face shining down on you, telling you it's time to join Him. It's a question that you will ask yourself along with all of the others--”Am I gonna be okay? Am I stupid? Did I have to do this? Did I really think I could beat The Almighty himself Noir?”
And... that will be your cross to bear, kiddo. All I can tell you—all I can say about you—is that you're going to have the fight of your life on your hands. You can go ahead and laugh it off. You can go ahead and tell every prick you know that Noir doesn't have it anymore. You can go ahead and tell everyone you know that
Noir is washed up, he's a hack, he's a fucking drunk, he's someone you're going to steamroll over like every other pathetic piece of shit victory you've had in the pile of crap you call a career. You can say all of these things, Derek, but it's not going to hide the truth from me. And it's not going to hide the truth from anyone else in the federation...
... That truth, Derek, is that you're facing down the jaws of oblivion, and you just pissed your fucking pants.
... You.
It must piss you off, Derek. It must piss you off that you drew the short end of the stick. It must piss you off that, when your music plays and you're facing down that curtain, you're going to be walking out to what will be your funeral march. It must piss you off that when you walk out to that ring, you're going to be looking inside it... and you're going to find not a man. You're not gonna find a man standing in the middle of that ring, Derek, what you're gonna find is a beast. A beast who has woken up, a beast that is opening its black, gaping jaws, and a beast that is prepared and fucking eager to swallow your bony white ass whole.
So what happens now, Derek? What do you do now? Do you collect your check and run for the hills? Do you fly to another country where I can't find you? Do you just get the hell out of Town or... do you stick it out?
Do you sit in your locker room, surrounded by the other boys, and do you try to laugh it off? Do you joke about how such an easy time will be had when you have to fight me, the Night King? Do you try and bury the look of fear in your eyes? This is only your first match in the fed, Derek, and you know, just as well as I do, that you've never faced a challenge like this before. You know, just as well as I do, that those previous wins you had did nothing to prepare you for the hole you now find yourself tumbling downward.
The clock is ticking, kiddo. The clock is fuckin' ticking. It's counting down to midnight, Derek, and no longer will you be able to usurp the talent. No longer will you be able to drink of the cup, no longer will you have the chance to fight back. No longer, Derek, will the people give a flying fuck who you are. The clock is ticking to zero, t-minus ten and counting, kiddo, and it's only a matter of time between when your music hits, and when the thumping hand of a referee counts your shoulders down to the mat... one... two... three. It's only a matter of time, Derek, until the fans, the people, the people who pay your salary finally wake up from this coma they've been living in. And when they wake up, Derek, you're going to be gone. You'll be lost in a hazy memory, like a dream you forget upon waking. You'll be nothing more than that, Derek. A hazy dream that one recalls every few years, if only for the briefest of times.
Are you ready for that, Derek? Are you ready for that clock to strike zero? You've hit the reset buttons on your fifteen minutes too many times, Derek, and now it's time for you to finally acknowledge that I've come home. It's time for you and all of the motherfuckers who doubted me, all the motherfuckers who think they can walk all over me, it's time for you to take your place in the Night King's throne room. It's time for you to get on your knees, and bow. It's time for you, Derek, to kiss the fucking ring, in so much you might be spared.
Oh what the hell am I talking about? I know just as well as you do, Derek, that there isn't a chance in hell you're walking out of the match a winner, with your head held high. The truth is, Derek, the most you can hope for... is walking out of the match at all.
So tell me, Derek, will you find joy in your new home? Will you find joy in the court of the Night King? Will you finally stand before Noir, knees buckling, barely able to support you, and finally kneel in awe of what I am? What the Almighty has brought back to the world? Will you kneel in awe, and will you fall? I think you will.
Everybody does, Derek. Everybody falls. The only question is... can you find peace with it? Can you make your peace with the dark place I'll be leaving you in, can you find peace when you're staring up at those bright lights, your vision blurring, your vision dimming? Can you find peace, and even smile, when you're finally sent to the place you belong? When you're finally sent out of my sight, out of my Federation?
It's coming, Derek, and there's nothing that can stop it now. So when you're left lying, broken, staring up at the Night King with his foot planted on your chest, when you're finally looking at me as not an enemy, but a man who has saved you from a life of lies, from a life of false hopes that you could ever be better than Noir... will you thank me? I hope you do, Derek. I hope you thank me as the curtains of darkness fall over your eyes, and the last image you see is the blinding light, with my shadow cast over you. I hope that you thank me as I finally make you Fade...
... to Black.
[Fade to Black]