The Aftermath of The Storm [Promo]

[Punkology]

The arena was buzzing with excitement for the upcoming matches of the night; the final stretch of the show was action packed, especially with the Intercontinental Championship on the line. However, there were a few things to attend to before the show got to the final match...

BOOM!

A clap of thunder shook the arena, the lights turned dark blue to accommodate the legend making his appearance. "Short Change Hero" by The Heavy began to hum through the airwaves, followed by another sickening clap of thunder. The fans were already on their feets, jeering for the upcoming man; for those that watched Wrestlemania, they knew very well who it was.

I can't see where you comin' from,
but I know just what you runnin' from.
And what matters ain't the "who's baddest?"
But the ones who stop you fallin' from your ladder, baby.

The center of the stage opened up to begin lifting a platform up from below. Matt Shanahan stood in the middle of it with his head down, staring at the ground through his aviators. His forehead was still home to a heavy amount of stitching, and if it weren't for his muscle shirt, the fans would've noticed that his entire torso was wrapped up due to falling off the balcony and every other injury he endured. There was no trenchcoat tonight, nor was there his legendary weapon, the 'Punk-ville Slugger'. It was just him. The man that beat King, The Streak of WWF:G.

And you feel like you're feelin' now,
doin' things just to please your crowd.
And I love you like the way I love you,
and I suffer but I ain't gonna cut you, 'cause...

The chorus kicked in as The God of Punks was lifted up to the stage. He wasted no time to begin his walk down towards the ring, his eyes lifting to focus on the squared circle. The fans meant nothing to him tonight, their disapproval wasn't his concern. His concern was the aftermath of The Storm. His heart was heavier than it ever had been, but it didn't show in his face. He refused to give this crowd an inch until he was ready.

This ain't no place for no hero.
This ain't no place for no better man.
This ain't no place for no hero,
to call "home."

By the time the chorus was starting to repeat itself, Matt was at the bottom of the ramp and climbing into the ring. He came out with purpose tonight, and not even his entrance would come before that. A tight grimace covered his face as he stretched his torso downward to climb between the ropes, making him remember his injuries and just who caused them.

This ain't no place for no hero.
This ain't no place for no better man.
this ain't no place for no hero,
to call "home."

The last thing to be heard from the song was the haunting church bell resonating like it had at Wrestlemania. Once Matt was standing in the center of the ring with a microphone in his hand, the lights returned to normal and the song seamlessly faded into the background. The Storm stood in the center of the ring for quite some time, soaking in the hatred all the fans had to give him. They booed for the awful acts he committed against the King family. They booed for the fact that there was no hero at Wrestlemania to stop his tyranny. They booed because Matt Shanahan had succeeded.

"... I gave everyone here my all at Wrestlemania... the least you can do is give me five minutes of your goddamned silence," The God of Punks hissed into the microphone, only prompting the chorus of disdain to grow louder. He lowered the device away from his lips and waited patiently for the fans to get it all out of their systems. Various chants like "KEL-LY KING!" and <******** YOU MATT!" erupted through the arena; it had been so long since the fans were fully against Matt that he almost forgot how it felt; it didn't come close to harming the current state he was in, though. Finally, after the majority of them got it out of their systems, the audience began to calm down; Shanahan finally had the floor.

Lifting the microphone back up, Matt tried to start his speech once more, "... thank you. I know what you're all thinking. You think I've come out here to boast about my victory... you think I've come out to throw it in your faces that I beat Kelly King at Wrestlemania. I've come to pronounce The One True King to be dethroned, dead to the world! I've come to brag about how after all my plotting, all my destruction, everything I've ********' done, I won! There was no hero to end the fairy tale story! There was no redemption for the King family! For Kayla, for Carmyne, for Serenno, FOR KELLY! TRY AS THEY MIGHT... THEY FAILED!..." Matt abruptly roared with authority, obtaining the screaming rants from the fans once more. He parted his lips to talk once more in a much calmer, though he was sure most wouldn't here it, "That's not... what I came out here to talk about..."

He slowly began to pace the ring, continuing to talk while the fans settled down again, "Because you see, before Wrestlemania... that's what I would've said tonight. I would've came out here and raved over the fact that a King knelt before a God that night. I would've bragged that nothing could stop me!... but something has... something has stopped. But that's not something I want to share with you 'fans'. No, it's something I want to share with... Kelly King," Matt stopped pacing to face the stage, his eyes staring directly at the black curtain. "I know you're in the building, King, and I want you out here. I want to talk to you man-to-man; no strings attached, no kids this time, no weapons. Just you and I..." The God of Punks lowered the microphone and waited for 2.0 to make an appearance.

 

[ProtoWolf 2.0]

Counting All The Assholes In The Room

Well I'm Definitely Not Alone... I'm Not Alone.

You're A Liar

You're A Cheater

You're A Fool

Well That's Just Like Me Ooohoo.

And I Know You Too

Mr. Perfect Don't Exist My Little Friend
And I Tell You It Again, And I Do It Again
Counting All The Assholes In The Room
Well I'm Definitely Not Alone. Well I'm Not Alone.

Still Counting - Volbeat

And here came the hero, in the place that there was no place for. The better man who was also the lesser man. As the song hit it's stride of electric guitar, WWFG fans learned for the first time that this song was not a one-time-only thing for King, but his permanent new song. Unfortunately, the budget would not allow him to sky rise the ring every night, but you had to take the bad with the good. 2.0 took his sweet time coming out onto the stage, walking very slowly. He looked like a man who had been aged terribly by the events with he'd endured with his friend in the ring. Sporting bandages visibly under his coat under his arm, and draped all across his head from all the serious slugs he'd taken from baseball bat and fist, 2.0 gingerly stepped to the beat of his own song. Accidentally. For he was only walking in beat due to his limp causing him to drag his left leg as he walked. The fans lost their minds cheering for the legendary wrestler as he made his way out onto the stage.

With him he carried a large black briefcase, but did not wear his usual hat, mask, or cape. Instead he just wore the look of pain on his face and his complicated suit, flinching every time his step would twang a particularly rough feeling up his entire left side. It was amazing either man had been cleared for flight after the hell they'd been through. He stopped halfway down the ramp, looking at the fans who still cheered him, but he was confirmed for failure. He'd not managed to defeat the God of Punks, and had only succeeded in extending his WrestleMania losing streak to 0-3. And who knew if he'd ever have another chance to change that. He'd let his family down, he'd let himself down, but he'd let down one other person. 2.0 looked down at his feet and took a deep breath, making his way down to the ring again. It was a bit of a walk, and it was certainly a trial for him to bring himself up the steel steps. Bending down to step between the ropes and enter the ring was almost an action that took place in slow motion, but after taking his time, Kelly King 2.0 stood face to face with Matt Shanahan in the middle of the WWF:G ring.  

[Punkology]

The fans were electrified by the sight of the two men in the ring together once more, staring each other down like they had at Wrestlemania. It was clear neither men were in any condition to even attempt to compete, but there were many hopefuls in the crowd that were practically commanding King to get his revenge on Shanahan; Matt never heard them, as he once again shut the fans out of his mind.

The God of Punks eyed 2.0 over heavily, inspecting the man for a moment; both men were brutally damage, but it seemed King was a bit worse off. Slowly, Matt rose the microphone back to his lips and continued, "... I don't understand," was all he said for a moment, before going silent and staring back into Kelly's eyes. It was like he was searching for something; something only he knew was there, "I don't understand... I beat you at Wrestlemania. I broke into your home, I instilled the fear of a God into your children, and I made you kneel before me! And yet... I don't feel like a winner. When I look into your eyes, I don't see a broken man like I expected. When I look at -you-, I don't feel the satisfaction of knowing that you knelt to -me-. I don't understand why, Kelly. I don't understand how you can survive such a Storm and continue to live, and yet I feel like ********' scum! I won, goddamnit! I beat you! I won my redemption!... and yet, I don't have it. I don't understand... I've went to everyone, asking them why I felt like this; they all spouted out the same bullshit... but you know, don't you? I can see it in your eyes; it's the same goddamn look you've had since Wrestlemania, and even before it. So maybe you and all your infinite ********' knowledge can explain to me why -I- don't have my redemption?" Matt quizzed with clear disdain in his voice. He lowered his microphone and stared at King, waiting for a reply. His words almost seemed jumbled, as if he couldn't form his thought process into the words he was looking for, but he forced them out nonetheless. What he said and what he felt though were almost polar opposites.

 

[ProtoWolf 2.0]

Kelly King 2.0 stood in the ring and stood as straight as he could, at that. His hands were crossed over the briefcase handle, which was taking considerable might for him to actually hold aloft. His arms still felt like mush from the match at WrestleMania that had nearly taken it all from him. But he stood there, patiently, listening to Matt Shanahan plead his case. He listened with an open mind and an open heart, mouth slightly open as Matt's words registered deep with him. And the camera caught the feeling in King's eyes. His eyes told a story. Or at least the one eye that it could see. The story that Matt was right; King did know why he didn't have it. King took a deep breath, as he grabbed the top rope and followed it all the way around the ring to grab a microphone from ringside, letting the fans cheer and pop for 2.0.

He rounded the ring back to face Matt, standing in the exact same place that he had been as he'd listened to the God of Punks rant and rave. "Well it's all right there isn't it? Listen, Matt," He started, his voice sounding very rough, just as it had months ago when he'd destroyed the US title in the video package, "It's all in your wording. Every answer you were looking for is all right there, you just have to... really think about it." He said quietly. He spoke quietly because he had to, because it was all the energy he had in him, but also because if he spoke any louder, the fans wouldn't have to be quiet to hear him talk.

"I am not broken because you didn't break me. I did not kneel before God, I was executed. You beat me, but what... what did you redeem? You didn't get redemption because all you did, you set out for vengeance. And you got it. You beat me. You... you did what I couldn't do, and you won at WrestleMania. It took everything you had and you took everything I had. But I'm timeless. I am the single longest active in-ring competitor in the history of this world." 2.0 said, the fans starting to get the hang of saying it at the same time as him. King cleared his throat and strained, flinching as he had to very briefly lean back on the top rope. When he stood back up straight, he looked directly up at Matt and really asked him these questions. "You beat me, but not even The Storm could keep me down forever. I'll come back, and I'll try to become better and better. While you, with your vengeful victory... you clearly didn't learn anything, Matt. All you took from me, and my family, what has it got you? 3-0. A number. But what has it lost you?"  

[Punkology]

The God of Punks gaze was trained in on Kelly King, almost like he had at Wrestlemania. It was as if he were contemplating starting it all over again in an attempt to shift the cycle where he wanted it. To where King was out for good, and he would have his satisfaction. His mind turned into a battlefield as King spat out the question he, honestly, feared to hear. What did he lose?

Matt slowly lifted the microphone back up to his lips, but his black pupils were beginning to fill with that familiar rage. "What did I lose, King? What did -I- lose? You and I -both- know what I lost, you really wanna lay it out for the world? Okay, fine! I'll admit what I lost. I lost the Royal Rumble. I lost the FFA US Championship. I lost my pride. I lost my 'cool'. I lost the respect of just about every goddamn person in this arena, watching at home, and probably in the ********' lockerroom! But I know what you're trying to work out of me, so here it is: I lost the King family."

There was a long pause before Shanahan spoke again while he tried to form his words into the most coherent sentences he could, "I lost the closest thing to a family I could've ever had. I lost the ability to say that you lot were like family to me, and I hope I was like family to you. But I can live with all that. I can live knowing that your children will despise -me- until the end of time. I can live with everyone hating me, I can live with knowing that I brought it all upon myself. You know why, King? Because that's how the cards are always dealt. You lose and still somehow keep everything, people like Chrono and Dion and ********' Mike Landry win and keep everything, but me? When -I- win, I always lose something or someone along the way. So you know what? I can live with it, Kelly. What I can't live with is this lack of closure; even after defeating you, it's -still-... there. So unless you've got my closure in that briefcase, how about you stop talkin' your s**t and answer my goddamn question?" He finished his speech, though it seemed like he had so much more to say. There was more in his eyes, so much more to his story. But he wouldn't let it go.

 

[ProtoWolf 2.0]

"You want closure, Matt? Okay. I'll give you some closure." 2.0 said as he leaned over and unlatched the two metal locks that kept the briefcase sealed, but he didn't open it. He simply held it against his body. "The closure is this is over. We're over, we're done. You wanted me at WrestleMania and you got me. You beat me. And that's the end of that. There will be no rematch, there will be no Kelly King 2.0 attempt at redemption. There will be no hug, or hand shake, or sign of respect. Because I don't respect you Matt. I don't respect this creature you've become. You did anything and everything you possibly could, just to get a shot at me. Nothing stood in your path. No atrocity was too great for you, simply because I eliminated you from the Royal Rumble. And if you could do all those things you did to me, your best friend in this business, I tremble to think of what would have happened had anyone else eliminated you."

2.0 stopped for a moment and sucked in a deep breath, as though he had been struggling to talk without breathing for that long. "I'm sorry, Matt. I'm sorry for everything. For eliminating you at the Royal Rumble. For pissing on the contract... I was trying to teach you a lesson. Trying to show you that this... pissy, insane, monster of a man that you've let yourself devolve into wasn't... wasn't you. That there is a better man inside you, and only that better man could beat me at WrestleMania. But I was wrong. I failed you, and I failed all of these fans, although they'll never know it. But one thing I'm not sorry about is destroying the FFA United States title." 2.0 said as he reached into the briefcase and removed something from it.

The Free For All United States Championship glistened in the bright lights of the WWFG Arena as it was pulled from the briefcase, glistening and perfect, not a scratch or smudge on it. No metal was bent, no jewel was missing, and all the colors were in place just the way it was supposed to be. "Because I didn't. I couldn't. Matt, you were my best friend. I would never do something like that to you. I would never hurt you like that, after what we've been through together. I only destroyed a replica belt, because I know how much this has always meant to you." King stopped for a moment to look at the belt, and then he shined it up real nice with his coat sleeve. He smiled at Matt and reached forward to hand off the belt to it's rightful owner. "I was wrong. I wanted to give this title back to the man who won it five years ago. But only his name remains on the man I hand it back to now. Even still, this is yours. You wanted it so bad. I hope it was worth it. I hope my family was worth it. I hope I was worth it." 2.0 said and then left the briefcase and the microphone in the ring, slowly stepping out to leave Matt alone, with his regained championship belt.  

[Punkology]

Matt was ready to shoot another rebuttal in King's direction, until he opened the case. In that instant, the microphone dropped out of his hand and clattered onto the mat; the US Championship was still in mint condition, just as it was the day he won it five years ago. The one belt he never lost in all of his years. It was a portion of his legacy that deserved it's own documentary Blu-Ray.

His lips trembled together as he tried to form some sort of sentence, some form of sound to express how he felt as his former best friend dropped the title belt into his hands. And then, it was his once more. Everything he went through came full circle. What was originally a challenge out of pride became a personal war between the two men, just because his championship was threatened. King sought to make it personal, and Shanahan only replied by proving that he was the master of such a craft; little did he know that Kelly held the true trump card.

The God of Punks stood stock still in the ring, simply holding his championship. He had listened to everything King had said, but a reaction hadn't taken hold just yet. Was he this monster that 2.0 claimed he was? Was he insane? Surely not; he only reacted to a personal attack, nothing more... right? "I'm not... insane..." he mouthed silently as he stared at the polished plate of metal in his hands. The belt that read "MATT SHANAHAN", just as it did for all these years. He was still that Matt, just better. He was only better than the old Matt, nothing more... right?

Matt's trance finally broke away from the title, and he hoped to say one last thing to 2.0; except, his old friend was long gone. There was no sight of Kelly anywhere, only the sight of thousands of fans booing him, and officials calling for him to exit the ring so the next match could occur. How long had he been standing there? Seconds? Minutes? It couldn't be too long. His head turned about as he continued to examine the arena, ignoring the fans and the officials purposely now. He destroyed a friendship and made the King family an eternal enemy. For what? A streak at WWF:G's Wrestlemania, a company that he had walked out on two years prior? To prove that he was superior, when he knew that he ******** up at Royal Rumble? For his championship? Better yet, was it all truly worth it? Maybe Kelly was right about everything...

Matt managed to take up a whole five minutes of the show by just standing in the ring, holding his FFA US Championship. The fans gave up on jeering him to the back, and the officials got to the point where they just waited by ringside to escort him to the back. He slowly walked to the ropes and dropped down to a knee, grimacing fiercely as he rolled under the ropes and stood up to his feet. His US Championship remained firm in his grip as he paced towards the backstage area. Tonight, he didn't look back at the fans, the ring, or even the signs around the arena. He didn't queue his music. He walked out of the center arena in silence. At least he had his answer: he didn't feel like the winner, because he didn't win. No one won.