The titantron flickered on with a low hum, exposing a simple scene from the start. It showed the backstage area, a hallway leading to the parking lot to be precise. The hallway was completely devoid of life from the looks of it, except for a small TV against a wall that was playing the replay footage for those that were watching at home or online. The image it showed was that of Kody Gordert holding his hand high after his first win LWL, marking a successful debut for the old face.
"Here is your winner, Kody Gor-..."
Before the announcer could finish announcing the winner, a black, leather gloved hand reached forward and turned off the TV. As the hand retracted, the camera followed it to reveal a man sitting up on a pile of equipment crates. His attire was that of simple black jeans, a faded "Angered Alliance" muscle shirt, a long black leather trenchcoat, and a pair of aviators to hide his eyes. His black locks were finely slicked back, keeping all strands out of his face. At his side was an opened beer bottle, and a black baseball bat. Make no mistake, it was none other than "The God of Punks", Matt Shanahan.
"... Kody Gordert... Huh. There's a name I thought was long gone..." Shanahan muttered to himself as his lips began to form into a smirk, as if finding some form of an inside joke highly amusing. He chuckled before reaching to the beer, lifting it up to take a sip from it. "... Awful stuff, they can't even spring for non-generic s**t around here..." He set the beer back down after taking his sip, shaking his head in the process.
"Kody Gordert... AJ Warner... Jarel Damone... Who's the next person this s**t-hole's going to resurrect from retirement?" The God of Punks mumbled, while reaching around his backside to produce a small clipboard, overlooking the it for a long moment in silence. He flipped a page backwards, giving the camera a glance at the word 'contract' in the process. "Mhm... Mhm... I see..." After a long moment, Matt hopped down from the crates with the clipboard in one hand and his baseball bat in the other, his eyes inspecting wooden slate through his tinted aviators. His boots turned to slowly begin carrying him towards the parking lot door, though his eyes didn't leave the clipboard in his hand until he got all the way to the door.
"... Maybe." Shanahan stated with a firm sigh, putting the clipboard down on one of the boxes near the exit. Without another word, he pushed open the door to the parking lot and disappeared, leaving the cameraman and clipboard behind. The cameraman moved to zoom the lens in on the paper attached the clipboard, focusing on the words at the top: LWL CONTRACT.
Further down the piece of paper was a dotted line to be signed upon; it was blank.
[End Feed]
"Here is your winner, Kody Gor-..."
Before the announcer could finish announcing the winner, a black, leather gloved hand reached forward and turned off the TV. As the hand retracted, the camera followed it to reveal a man sitting up on a pile of equipment crates. His attire was that of simple black jeans, a faded "Angered Alliance" muscle shirt, a long black leather trenchcoat, and a pair of aviators to hide his eyes. His black locks were finely slicked back, keeping all strands out of his face. At his side was an opened beer bottle, and a black baseball bat. Make no mistake, it was none other than "The God of Punks", Matt Shanahan.
"... Kody Gordert... Huh. There's a name I thought was long gone..." Shanahan muttered to himself as his lips began to form into a smirk, as if finding some form of an inside joke highly amusing. He chuckled before reaching to the beer, lifting it up to take a sip from it. "... Awful stuff, they can't even spring for non-generic s**t around here..." He set the beer back down after taking his sip, shaking his head in the process.
"Kody Gordert... AJ Warner... Jarel Damone... Who's the next person this s**t-hole's going to resurrect from retirement?" The God of Punks mumbled, while reaching around his backside to produce a small clipboard, overlooking the it for a long moment in silence. He flipped a page backwards, giving the camera a glance at the word 'contract' in the process. "Mhm... Mhm... I see..." After a long moment, Matt hopped down from the crates with the clipboard in one hand and his baseball bat in the other, his eyes inspecting wooden slate through his tinted aviators. His boots turned to slowly begin carrying him towards the parking lot door, though his eyes didn't leave the clipboard in his hand until he got all the way to the door.
"... Maybe." Shanahan stated with a firm sigh, putting the clipboard down on one of the boxes near the exit. Without another word, he pushed open the door to the parking lot and disappeared, leaving the cameraman and clipboard behind. The cameraman moved to zoom the lens in on the paper attached the clipboard, focusing on the words at the top: LWL CONTRACT.
Further down the piece of paper was a dotted line to be signed upon; it was blank.
[End Feed]
