"Alright, we need a post-match interview before the main event. Can ya do that for me? Can you do something successful, champ?"
"Y-Y-Yes sir, I'll get right on it. Where can I find him?"
"Second left, you'll find most of these guys over there. Be easy on him, that loss was pretty brutal, but be subtle in your questions and demand good answers, alright kid? Oh, and try not to stutter."
"Yes sir."
With that, the camera was lifted and put onto the shoulder of the cameraman, following the dumbfounded reporter. This amateur journalist was no wrestling fan; in fact, he had spent the past hour trying to calm himself down after his first cocaine high. He was a lightweight in the absolute wrong occupation. It was the business, and now, it was his job on the line. But he didn't watch any of these matches, it was his first time at a pay-per-view, and after being gone for the past hour thinking he had the adrenaline to rob a bank and have sex for weeks at a time, he didn't have the comfort of sitting down and tuning into some professional wrestling. He turned to his left to a hallway, the white brick-patterned wall being interrupted by a few steel blue doors. This reporter finally approached a man with muscle, far taller and seemingly more athletic than the average man. This man was sitting on a bench that matched the color scheme of the steel doors with his head buried in his folded hands. This reporter took a chance based off his few observations, perhaps a so-called opportunity he would regret like many reporters who said the wrong thing to the Suplex Shooter. "Excuse me," the reporter said, somewhat shaking in his footsteps from the possibility of being attacked by one of these wrestlers. "E-Excuse me... I'd like to get your thoughts on your loss, if you d-don't mind." After a few moments, the man with his head buried had a laugh that slowly increased in volume. This wrestler finally rose his head to reveal AJ Warner, which received a large pop from the crowd. But Warner wasn't happy with either of them, and he especially wasn't happy with this jerk-off asking him such a generic question. The veteran looked up to the reporter with a mic shoved in his face; he would give him and these fans a much more complex answer to a question that wasn't even intended for him. "You wanna ask me about how I feel? You're gonna ask me about my losses?" AJ stood up, visibly much taller and muscular than the man interrogating him. Warner stared him down for a couple seconds, breathing heavily with irritation visible. But soon, he started to observe the reporter's face back. He was afraid, much more than the average reporter would be. Was he told to over-sell for the cameraman? No, no... he had a very pale "booger" hanging out of his nose. After a very faint chuckle, AJ looked like he was going to be ready to speak again. But in a quick motion, he snatched the microphone out of the hands of the reporter and scratched his nose a couple times to give the pitiful journalist a hint. With that, the man who was about to give his first interview sprinted out of camera shot. But the camera man knew better; this was going to be something juicy, to say the least, and his boss would at least praise him for capturing it. Warner looked to the camera visibly pissed off, raising the microphone to his mouth.
"I've lost ever since I could remember. When I was seven-years-old, I was goalie for my neighborhood hockey team. We were up... yeah we were winning to say the least, but between everyone else's happy home life and their color televisions to slave to, we decided next shot wins. Back and fourth, close call after close call, and when the last shot was made! ... the puck went right by head. My opposition? Excited. My teammates? They gave up on me. I didn't play goalie again, in fact I didn't see those kids anymore. I didn't deserve to be in their league... I was the loser who didn't deserve their friendship because to put it in simple terms... I f*cked up." AJ gave a small chuckle under the palm wiping his mouth and then the back of his neck. He looked down during this and would continue to do so for the next few moments he spoke.
"My senior year... heh, my senior year, I was the worst wrestler in the world. I made a makeshift trampoline ring with my brother, and rather than doing homework to information we were told, over and over again by people who thought they were our superior... we practiced throwing one another over our heads. But I still managed to barely get enough credits to graduate. That is... until I lost a textbook." Warner looked back up with his arms now folded, with a desire for the apathy the old drugs gave him rather than the bottled anger that was building inside of him for decades. But he did a good job of showing the illusion that it didn't cut him deep.
"A textbook, that at the time, was cheaper than those silly company t-shirts any of you were convinced to buy. Regardless... I couldn't graduate, so my father decided to take matters into his own hands. In a drunken rage, he beat me... with that textbook. My opposition? Well, I'm sure he felt a bit adventurous. But my teammates! Oh, they watched on. My mother and Phil were just as scared of the wrath from someone who had to SHOW they were our superior, and they would tell me after every one of these occurrences, 'It hurt us, too, Andrew.' ... Yeah, I'm sure it did. But Phil was kind enough to give me a shoulder to cry on, and let me take out all my frustrations on that damn trampoline. But no matter how rewarding his brotherly love was, no matter how nice it was to see at least one of my parents cry over me... my father said it best: I, f*cked, up." AJ took a couple small steps towards the camera, and would now try to soften his tone from the inner rage he had just vocalized. It wouldn't work -- at all.
"Fast forward ten years later. At the time, I was at the peak of my career. I had won four different championships, three of which were the most prestigious in those companies. I won Money in the Bank matches, I kept every man on that roster below me and I made your heroes quit. I, was the best, wrestler, any company had the chance to get their hands on. One day I get a phone call from my mother, who hadn't spoken to me in six or seven years because if she did, she'd get her fair share from pops too! But she found some spare time after I bought her her first cell phone, and she called me just to let me know, 'Hey AJ -- your brother is dead.' Outta here. No longer with us. Pushing roses."
Silence had never been this loud. For a long duration, AJ was breathing heavily, brushing his hand through his now short hair and then dropping his hand into a tightly-clenched fist. After several moments of trying to find the words and hold his composure, Warner raised the microphone back up.
"But you guys don't care. You guys have heard this message before, and I know what you're thinking. Rather than sympathy, or understanding of perspective, you guys are tired of the same old song and dance. I get it. I couldn't even say his name without breaking down 'till I spent about five years pouring norcos down my throat, making my family think I was crazy 'cause I would numb myself and make myself not feel anything. I'd shout it over and over again, every time the name came across my mind. PHIL! PHIL! PHIL!" AJ said as he stuck his face an inch closer to the camera to add emphasis and to let the fans be able to look inside his eyes and, for only a second, feel what he felt. He was very animated with his hands as he spoke.
"My opposition? Some entity you guys give many different names because he needed to SHOW, HE WAS SUPERIOR! And my teammates? These so-called fans? They gave up on me. Oh, I was just the wrestler who got hooked on painkillers like a lot of the guys behind the scenes are. And you were told that by bookers who were upset they couldn't use me. You were told that by wrestlers who called my story 'bullshit' when they had not read or experienced a word of it! But you are all guilty of the same. In unison, you all looked at me and told me that I, F*CKED, UP. Because I am not a monkey that does cool flips and says funny one-liners to please you, no... I'm the man who wears his emotions on his sleeves, and thanks to this job, I get to show these other wrestlers, reporters, fans, bookers, managers... I get to show them exactly how I feel. I came back for a little bit, but soon I lost again, and I lost the same... but the funny thing is, without much to lose anymore, I only had so much to gain." The Suplex Shooter tapped the side of his forehead with an honest smirk now coming across his face. Damn, this man was one bi-polar son-of-a-b***h.
"Knowledge. Awareness. Power of the mind. You see, you guys are just so... to put it in your terms, stupid. Simply stupid. The only reason you guys ever kept me out of your discussions for greatest of all-time is because I went through so much more than any of your 'icons' ever went through. They lived in the suburbs, they had a good group of friends, they ate dinner every night with mom and dad. What obstacles did they have to overcome? They were booked in main events, they were given dozens of minutes on television, given the opportunity to give you their best sales pitch. Me?" AJ shook his head, his smile subtly fading into an aggravated one. He was finally throwing all his feelings, all his opinions, all that he thought of this business out there. There was a reason that "Shooter' was included in the nickname, after all.
"I snatched every microphone that was meant for someone else, I stole opportunities that were on their way to somebody else's door step, I was never given chances, I earned them. So finally, I get to grace a well-run company who works hard for its fans, only for your Kelly Kings and your Matt Shanahans and your Chrono Clepsydras and your Mike Landrys to be absent from, simply because they think they're too good for this place... their schedule is too busy, they're doing half-assed Make-A-Wish events and selling autographs for ten dollars a pop. They need to constantly prove that they're superior to the likes of you and me, yet you still come to these shows with their shirts and signs begging for them to bring their ego here. It was you who f*cked up this time. As for myself? I don't need to prove ANYTHING, TO ANYONE. The only thing I need to prove is that I am the most talented wrestler, clearly the best speaker, and the only man that will not lose like he has ever again. But I'm not gonna tell you why you should think this, because I would be no better than those money-hungry dogs you keep feeding. The only person I need to prove this to is myself."
"My opposition? AJ Warner, and none of you sons a bitches will ever be on the same team as me."
Thousands in attendance, even more left speechless.
