At the start of Evo's broadcast, all attention would be drawn towards the titantron as the show opened with a slow fade-in of Salem Croft sitting backstage in an empty locker room. Initially, it appeared that the M.W. Deuce didn't notice that he was being filmed, even though the raucous negative response from the crowd at seeing him could be heard even from way back there. His right foot propped up on the bench, Salem had his pant leg raised to the knee so he could wrap his still-wounded ankle in athletic tape, but as the camera zoomed in on the shot he promptly tugged the black denim back down and rested his forearm against the knee, smiling at the lens in a kind of 'Captain Morgan' pose.
"Oh, hi there. Didn't see you." he said with a corny delivery. "I'm Salem Croft, and I'm here to talk to you today about a serious problem that is plaguing our industry - and that problem is you, the fans."
Salem chuckled as another swell of boos reached the locker room, shaking his head at the faint jeers he could hear even so far backstage. Standing up off the bench, he shook his head and smirked, soaking up the animosity and turning it into fuel to fan the fire in his eyes.
"Oh, what? I'm not here to be a role model for you people. Save that for Matt Shanahan...which, speaking of." Salem's smile faded to a terse, straight-lipped stare into the camera, raising his hands to initiate a slow golf clap for a couple of seconds. "Bra-vo, Mr. Storm. You managed to beat me at Heatwave and keep that precious title that you talk so much about. Did a good number on my leg, too. But if you think that settles things between you and I, if you think that losing one battle means the end of this war I'm waging, you're dead...wrong."
Croft looked lit up tonight, despite having lost last show in his title opportunity at the recent PPV to perhaps the most venerable world champion to carry a strap in Evolution. Obviously, the scowl that accompanied Salem's scathing words was enough proof that his confidence had weathered their encounter much better than his body, "The Most Wanted Man in Wrestling" resting his hands on his knees to lean towards the lens and put a close-up of his face on the big screen out in the arena proper, which was filled with booing fans that would've drowned out Salem's next words had he been talking to them directly.
"You see, Shanahan, I may have lost, but I gained something even more valuable in the process. Motivation. I thought I had trained enough, I thought I was disciplined enough to beat you at Heatwave...but I failed to get the job done, and as a result confirmed all these people's doubts about me and whether I can win 'the big one'. But what you don't get, what these people don't get is that their opinions don't matter. Not to me, and certainly shouldn't to you, 'Storm'. See, all of you think that because you buy a ticket and come out here with your signs and shirts and chants that it somehow makes you part of what happens, here...but none of you knows what it's like to face a God, do you? None of you people sitting out there appreciate the sacrifices people like me make to get ahead, because most of you are content with just accepting the world as it is. You come out here like brainless insects, swarming to drool all over a tasty bit of entertainment at our expense, eager to just step outside your own miserable lives for a few minutes to live vicariously through these so-called 'legends' you love to idolize. Well, wake up, people!" Salem said with a slap against the side of the camera, shaking the frame to accentuate his last few words.
Retreating a couple steps, Salem straightened up and reached to scratch his chin, tilting his head back to look up for the briefest of moments as though he were starting to suffocate being so close to the camera. Chuckling, he lowered his eyes towards the lens and pulled the hand off his face to waggle his index finger.
"You people think that I'm not worthy of being the Evolution Champion. Matt Shanahan thinks I'm not worthy of being the Evolution Champion. But to quote a dead poet, 'The old get old, and the young get stronger, may take a week and it may take longer...' And whether it's a week from now, Matt, a month, a year, Hell, even tonight against Brantley Summers...someone's gonna knock you off that pedestal, golden boy...and it's my promise to you and everyone else watching that until that title is wrapped around my waist, I'm not going to lose another match in this company."
Starting to walk across the locker room, the cameraman panned over to see Salem surveying the nameplates on the lockers, stopping beside one that read 'Ares'. Meanwhile, the chorus of discontent continued to ring throughout the halls and into the emptied locker room, much to the delight of Salem - though in this moment, he avoided smiling, still stern and resentful with his eyes and voice.
"...Heh. Which brings me to this." Salem said stoically, leaning against a locker diagonal from the one he was presently staring at. "Ares. Our newest addition. So fresh to the company, he hasn't even made it to the arena, yet...but you can all rest assured that when he shows up, tonight, I'm gonna give him a warm reception."
Reaching over to open Ares' locker, the camera caught a sight of WWE:E's care package for the new signee, a duffel bag branded with the company logo left unzipped to showcase the various merchandise and amenities that had been provided complimentary for the rookie. While some fans salivated at the thought of having such swag, themselves, Salem merely shook his head.
"Labels. Promotional garbage. Cheap s**t made in sweatshops and sold to the dumb masses because, why not? After all, you people love labels. You put them on me all the time. Loser. Wannabe. Second-rate. The things you people chant during my matches, you wouldn't have the balls to say to my face. But, that's okay. Because in the E:E Universe, everyone lives in their own little world...and tonight, Ares is gonna step into mine. He's gonna see what it's like to face the "Most Wanted Man in Wrestling" at his most dangerous, when he's been backed into a corner with nowhere to go but up, nowhere to go but through whoever stands in his way."
Turning his eyes toward at the camera, Salem slowly walked towards the lens, his back turned to the lockers and sight focused on the shot with an almost creepy seriousness to his stare.
"...And when I'm done with him, I'm not stopping until I've made my mark on this company, on all of you, and become the Evolution Champion of the future...and then, on that wonderful day, you'll all be in my world, too."
Reaching into his pocket, Salem pulled out a zippo and struck it with one fluid motion, turning around to toss the flame into Ares' locker. Landing in the duffel bag, it took only a couple of seconds before flames started to spew up from the satchel's mouth, smoke starting to spill out into the room as Salem slowly smiled, glancing back at the camera.
"Welcome to the show, Ares." he said, the flames growing behind him as "The Deuce" walked off frame and out of the locker room, smoke alarm beginning to blare in the background.
"Oh, hi there. Didn't see you." he said with a corny delivery. "I'm Salem Croft, and I'm here to talk to you today about a serious problem that is plaguing our industry - and that problem is you, the fans."
Salem chuckled as another swell of boos reached the locker room, shaking his head at the faint jeers he could hear even so far backstage. Standing up off the bench, he shook his head and smirked, soaking up the animosity and turning it into fuel to fan the fire in his eyes.
"Oh, what? I'm not here to be a role model for you people. Save that for Matt Shanahan...which, speaking of." Salem's smile faded to a terse, straight-lipped stare into the camera, raising his hands to initiate a slow golf clap for a couple of seconds. "Bra-vo, Mr. Storm. You managed to beat me at Heatwave and keep that precious title that you talk so much about. Did a good number on my leg, too. But if you think that settles things between you and I, if you think that losing one battle means the end of this war I'm waging, you're dead...wrong."
Croft looked lit up tonight, despite having lost last show in his title opportunity at the recent PPV to perhaps the most venerable world champion to carry a strap in Evolution. Obviously, the scowl that accompanied Salem's scathing words was enough proof that his confidence had weathered their encounter much better than his body, "The Most Wanted Man in Wrestling" resting his hands on his knees to lean towards the lens and put a close-up of his face on the big screen out in the arena proper, which was filled with booing fans that would've drowned out Salem's next words had he been talking to them directly.
"You see, Shanahan, I may have lost, but I gained something even more valuable in the process. Motivation. I thought I had trained enough, I thought I was disciplined enough to beat you at Heatwave...but I failed to get the job done, and as a result confirmed all these people's doubts about me and whether I can win 'the big one'. But what you don't get, what these people don't get is that their opinions don't matter. Not to me, and certainly shouldn't to you, 'Storm'. See, all of you think that because you buy a ticket and come out here with your signs and shirts and chants that it somehow makes you part of what happens, here...but none of you knows what it's like to face a God, do you? None of you people sitting out there appreciate the sacrifices people like me make to get ahead, because most of you are content with just accepting the world as it is. You come out here like brainless insects, swarming to drool all over a tasty bit of entertainment at our expense, eager to just step outside your own miserable lives for a few minutes to live vicariously through these so-called 'legends' you love to idolize. Well, wake up, people!" Salem said with a slap against the side of the camera, shaking the frame to accentuate his last few words.
Retreating a couple steps, Salem straightened up and reached to scratch his chin, tilting his head back to look up for the briefest of moments as though he were starting to suffocate being so close to the camera. Chuckling, he lowered his eyes towards the lens and pulled the hand off his face to waggle his index finger.
"You people think that I'm not worthy of being the Evolution Champion. Matt Shanahan thinks I'm not worthy of being the Evolution Champion. But to quote a dead poet, 'The old get old, and the young get stronger, may take a week and it may take longer...' And whether it's a week from now, Matt, a month, a year, Hell, even tonight against Brantley Summers...someone's gonna knock you off that pedestal, golden boy...and it's my promise to you and everyone else watching that until that title is wrapped around my waist, I'm not going to lose another match in this company."
Starting to walk across the locker room, the cameraman panned over to see Salem surveying the nameplates on the lockers, stopping beside one that read 'Ares'. Meanwhile, the chorus of discontent continued to ring throughout the halls and into the emptied locker room, much to the delight of Salem - though in this moment, he avoided smiling, still stern and resentful with his eyes and voice.
"...Heh. Which brings me to this." Salem said stoically, leaning against a locker diagonal from the one he was presently staring at. "Ares. Our newest addition. So fresh to the company, he hasn't even made it to the arena, yet...but you can all rest assured that when he shows up, tonight, I'm gonna give him a warm reception."
Reaching over to open Ares' locker, the camera caught a sight of WWE:E's care package for the new signee, a duffel bag branded with the company logo left unzipped to showcase the various merchandise and amenities that had been provided complimentary for the rookie. While some fans salivated at the thought of having such swag, themselves, Salem merely shook his head.
"Labels. Promotional garbage. Cheap s**t made in sweatshops and sold to the dumb masses because, why not? After all, you people love labels. You put them on me all the time. Loser. Wannabe. Second-rate. The things you people chant during my matches, you wouldn't have the balls to say to my face. But, that's okay. Because in the E:E Universe, everyone lives in their own little world...and tonight, Ares is gonna step into mine. He's gonna see what it's like to face the "Most Wanted Man in Wrestling" at his most dangerous, when he's been backed into a corner with nowhere to go but up, nowhere to go but through whoever stands in his way."
Turning his eyes toward at the camera, Salem slowly walked towards the lens, his back turned to the lockers and sight focused on the shot with an almost creepy seriousness to his stare.
"...And when I'm done with him, I'm not stopping until I've made my mark on this company, on all of you, and become the Evolution Champion of the future...and then, on that wonderful day, you'll all be in my world, too."
Reaching into his pocket, Salem pulled out a zippo and struck it with one fluid motion, turning around to toss the flame into Ares' locker. Landing in the duffel bag, it took only a couple of seconds before flames started to spew up from the satchel's mouth, smoke starting to spill out into the room as Salem slowly smiled, glancing back at the camera.
"Welcome to the show, Ares." he said, the flames growing behind him as "The Deuce" walked off frame and out of the locker room, smoke alarm beginning to blare in the background.
