MATCH PROMO Battleground Wildcard 12/10 - Vs. The Revolution

Bowie Gray

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Bowie walked down the aisle. Around him, all around him fans screamed at the top of their lungs as he sauntered by. He hung his head in defeat. For the first time is his short EAW career Bowie had felt what it felt like to be on the losing side of things and it felt like shit. He found his eyes lingering, searching the fans as they all watched him. They pointed at him. They laughed at him, and even a few shouted some rather nasty comments at him. Kicking him when he was already down – or, was it all just in his head?

They mock you boy!


Everybody was laughing now; their laughing faces floated around him. No matter where he had looked, the pointing and the laughing just followed him. Stuck to him like a fucking leech. Bowie shook his head, as he started to gather speed and pick up his pace. He needed to get out, he needed to get fresh air. Everything around him, felt like it was starting to close in on him like he was suffocating. He found himself sprinting as he disappeared into the back, he stormed down a corridor, racing towards the door that read exit. He threw his entire body weight at the door and burst outside to the chill of night.

“AAAH!” Bowie roared towards the night sky. He had both his fist clenched, and the vain on his forehead was pulsing. He could feel it now, the rage inside him was building back up searching for an exit. He stalked towards an empty garbage can as he grabbed it by the handle and tossed it at a nearby car windshield. His eyes scanned the area around him, as he found himself in a search and destroy mission. He kicked over a wooden parking barricade, before turning his attention towards a handicap sign. He would wreak havoc with that sign.

He wandered towards the sign as the doors leading into the arena swung open, and fans had begun to pile outside. Again, he had noticed they were looking at him, pointing at him, whispering amongst one another as his ears filled with laughter, and more and more he had started to hear the words they spoke. They mocked him. The treated him like he was some fucking joke. He couldn’t take it anymore.

It’s all in your head Bowie.

“AAAH!” He screamed again, but there was much pain behind this scream. “STOP IT!”

They all stopped, each head turning and looking at Bowie. Bowie spun around on his heels and broke into a sprint, and he ran as far as he could, putting as much distance as he could between him and those that laughed at him. He ran onto the street, as vehicles horns blared and cars swerved to avoid hitting him. It was then, when the entire area around him lit up, turning everything red around him. He stopped running, as he looked up and saw a digital billboard. In huge letters, the sign produced a message, WILDCARD 1 LIVE FROM THE PRUDENTIAL CENTER, NEWARK, NEW JERSEY, DECEMBER 10TH, 2018 AN EXCLUSIVE BATTLEGROUND SUPERSHOW PRESENTED BY COCA-COLA.

He watched the digital billboard, it had begun to reveal all the upcoming matches that had been booked for the first Battleground Supershow as all around him more horns sounded, and voices had started to scream out windows.
“Get off the God damn road, idiot!”

He paid no mind to any of the drivers, as all he could do was focus on was what the screen above him and it read BOWIE GRAY AND VIZZY VERSUS THE REVOLUTION. A tag team match, with the man who had just defeated him no more than a half hour before. A man that was his enemy, a man that now he would have to team with. The faces that had all followed him had vanished, all the laughing had stopped as the world around him became silent as all Bowie had seen was red, and not the red from the digital billboard but the red in his head, the red in his temper as the rage inside him had begun to boil. The Reaper had again woken inside him.

“You, you fuckin’ expect me to team with him . . . The fuckin’ man that I do not like, the man that I fuckin’ now despise even more than before, the man that just fuckin’ defeated me not too long ago, fuck Elite don’t you see it, don’t you see me, the wound is still fresh PEOPLE . . . You expect ME, to watch his fuckin’ back—be his fuckin’ partner . . . HELP HIM, HELP FUCKIN’ VIZZY!” Bowie spat on the ground in disgust, “why, why would I help him Elite, tell me WHY!”

Why would you help him, Bowie, because you already did, did you not . . . Wasn’t it you that saved Vizzy?

“I didn’t fuckin’ do that to help him, I sure as hell didn’t do it to save him, I didn’t do it because I was looking for a fuckin’ partner either, you hear me, no, I fuckin’ did it because when I fuckin’ came to, all I saw, all I felt was fuckin’ anger . . . I had just fuckin’ loss, I had just felt defeat, and when I fuckin’ came too all I fuckin’ seen was Joshua Nicholls, all I saw was that sack of shit in my way, so I fuckin’ pounced, I went in for the fuckin’ kill . . . I wasn’t trying to help him, I wasn’t trying to fuckin’ save him because I could give two shits about Vizzy . . . Fuck VIZZY!”

Bowie threw his hand up towards the digital billboard, waving the sign away as he started to walk down the street, following the center line that divided traffic as vehicles ripped by him on either side. He stopped and had begun to think.

Just because you dislike the man doesn’t mean you cannot work together you know this right?

He turned back towards the sign and spoke to the sign as if it could hear him as a car slammed on its breaks, nearly hitting Bowie Gray, who did not flinch. He didn’t even notice.

Sometimes enemies can come together for the greater good.

“What fuckin’ greater good, what the fuck are you even talking about . . . Greater good, TELL ME . . . Why, WHY should I team with Vizzy, why should I help him . . . what’s it in for me, huh, what the fuck does it do for me!”

Because two of you together on a night that the win counts most puts the odds in your favor.

“The odds, the fuckin’ odds . . . FINE . . . You want me to be his fuckin’ partner, you want me and fuckin’ Vizzy to demolish the Revolution . . . Okay, FINE . . . for one fuckin’ night only I will partner with Vizzy, I will come to Wildcard, and I will make up for what happened tonight, you hear me . . . Do you fuckin’ hear me . . . THE REAPER will bring fuckin’ hell to Wildcard, and he will fuckin’ collect!”

“Starting with YOU, you Jake Smith . . . The fuckin’ mightiest one, do you remember, remember not so fuckin’ long ago when second place wasn’t even a fuckin’ option, remember that’s what you said, and remember that you fuckin’ said that I couldn’t even contend with the likes of you, because you where the fuckin’ mightiest one, you where Jake fuckin’ Smith . . . HOW THE FUCK DID THAT WORK OUT FOR YOU . . . How did that match fuckin’ play out, huh . . . It ended with you fuckin’ counting stars, and my hand, my fuckin’ arm raised!”

“What you think this time is going to be fuckin’ different now because you got a partner, you got a fuckin’ team, a team called Revolution, you really think that’s going to make a fuckin’ difference SMITH . . . Think that’s going to fuckin’ help you now, NO . . . Because you ARE the same fuckin’ blockhead I beat weeks ago, and just because you’ve found a friend as fuckin’ useless as you, don’t change the fact you are still shit . . . You are still out of your fuckin’ league, you hear me, and I could give two shits how many matches you’ve won since, because know this, you still will fuckin’ lose to me, this coming Monday and any time you get fuckin’ unlucky enough and the Elite throws you in the ring with me, you will . . . FUCKIN’ LOSE!”

“Second place isn’t an option, AH, as long as I’m here, you will always be in fuckin’ second place, ALWAYS TO THE REAPER.”

“And your partner, your fuckin’ partner Joshua Nicholls, what is there even to say about him, huh . . . What the fuck do you even say . . . He isn’t anything special, he isn’t even anything fuckin’ good . . . HEY JOSHUA you want everybody to fuckin’ know your name, you want the world to fuckin’ know who Joshua Nicholls is RIGHT . . . Well let me tell you, let me lay it out for you how they will fuckin’ know you, how they will fuckin’ remember you . . . the fuckin’ guy with the shitty partner named Jake Smith, that TRIED to create a fuckin’ revolution, that didn’t even make it off the ground, because they made a fuckin’ mistake, a huge mistake of starting a war with fuckin’ Vizzy and got even fuckin’ unluckier when the REAPER, joined in and came to fuckin’ COLLECT!”

“LOOK at you two, fuckin’ look . . . Two of Elite’s biggest MORONS creating a fuckin’ revolution . . . A revolution of what, huh, who the fuck are you two going to overthrow, tell me this . . . You going to overthrow fuckin’ VIZZY . . . the only time you fuckin’ bested Vizzy, was you waited until a fuckin’ 40 year old fuckin’ grandpa was tired and pounced, but when fuckin’ Grandpa their had his fuckin’ nap, had his fuckin’ energy he slapped the fuckin’ shit out of you Jake Smith like you were just a fuckin’ whore on the corner and even when you did get the fuckin’ best of Vizzy, it took fuckin’ two of you, to put down a fuckin’ tired old man after he had already gone to fuckin’ war inside the ring . . . FUCKIN’ PATHETIC!”

“FUCK THE REVOLUTION!”


Bowie looked around in search of something, anything to throw at the digital billboard. He spotted a bicycle and went for it, grabbing the bike and tried to toss it towards the advertisement, but it didn’t even come close,
“FUCK!”

SMASH!

Bowie stopped as a beer bottle shattered against the digital billboard, cracking the screen. He spun around on his heels, and standing a few feet away was a woman. Skin as pale as snow. Hair as black as the night sky above. A smirk crept across her lips.


“And who, who the fuck are you?”
 

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