While covering the backstage goings-on at Heatwave, a cameraman caught sight of Salem Croft returning to his dressing room fresh from his fight with Cartwright over the Asylum Championship. But perhaps 'fresh' was an improper adjective to describe the champion - or rather, former champion - as the rookie haggardly walked towards his private changing area for what would be the last time. Bruised and bloody, Salem was a sweaty, disheveled mess. Nonetheless, the journalist followed after and filmed the M.W. Deuce in what were his first moments without his precious Asylum Title.
Finally, the freshman fighter had led the reporter to his private room, the nameplate having already been removed. Hesitating to look at the headline heralded on the door, Croft's eyes studied the words Asylum Champion - Cartwright where his own name had once been just a few minutes before. It'd only been twice that he'd stuck his neck out for the title in question, but that didn't stop the rookie from feeling disheartened as he reached for the door, it's silver knob already feeling foreign to him. At this moment, the voyeur digitally broadcasting this feed to the arena decided to interject, imposing a question on the unusually quiet Calamity.
"Hey, Salem?" the cameraman inquired, causing Croft to pause and glance over his shoulder into the lens. Upon seeing it, he immediately turned his face away, sighing from either his injuries or the inconvenience. Regardless, Salem didn't open the door just yet, replying to the man without looking his way.
"...What?" the rookie responded, his tone short and irritated, but it was clear that something else was on his mind, bothering him.
The reporter paused a second, perhaps intimidated by Salem's reply or realizing the personal moment he was encroaching upon. Phrasing his next sentence very carefully, the journalist finally posed his question to the ailing Croft.
"Sorry to bother you - I was just hoping to get a word about how you feel right now, for all your fans out there." Salem turned his eyes back to the camera as he heard this, his vision veiled by his shaggy black bangs, but that didn't stop his momentary impulse of anger from showing through, nostrils flaring momentarily before he was forced to hang his head to avoid enraging himself. This was a sensitive side of Salem that the M.W. Deuce didn't enjoy displaying.
"It's no secret that you've been out to restore the Asylum Championship to its former glory since winning it from The Number Three...and against all odds, you managed to retain it from the former champion and Bison Mbadi in a triple threat match. But tonight, we all witnessed Cartwright pin you for the title, despite your brave effort to marginalize his wily antics. Any thoughts you'd like to share with your supporters out there about what's next for you?"
Salem's shoulders shrugged a little as a soft laugh escaped his lips, letting go of the door to turn around and face the camera, lifting his chin and reaching up with one bloodstained hand wrap to brush his bangs from his face. A bittersweet smile was on the lad's lips, his eyes flipping through the painful trials he'd overcome up until now with his beloved title in-tow. His nose wrinkled just a little as sadness crept into his veins, blood running cold through his chest at the thought of no longer carrying his cherished championship. Reaching up to rub his chin, he hung his head a little, shying from facing his fans who were surely staring intently at him from the other side of the video feed.
"You know, I have half a mind to say "******** off" right now and let you get your sound bite from someone else..." Salem started, his voice somewhat shaky but wholly serious. "...but, you're right - I owe my fans something. I owe them an apology...I'm sorry that I wasn't good enough to stop that sonuvabitch from taking the most important thing in my career from me. You guys backed me up, even when I was just some fresh-faced punk off the streets, trying to get noticed. I promised you all change, and yet I've got no excuses for why I'm no longer your Asylum Champion other than that I ******** up."
Though it may have been a trick of the lighting, it almost looked as though fresh tears were starting to stain Salem's cheeks from under his den of mossy hair.
"But I have something else to say...a message for your new Asylum Champion..." the rookie's voice more resembled a growl, now - a menacing timbre that caused the cameraman to tremble slightly, shifting the angle a little as the former champion started speaking once again. "You may have beaten me tonight, Cartwright...and you might have Knight waiting in the wings for his shot at that belt...but don't you think for one second that this is over between you and I. I'll have my rematch, and whether it's you, Knight, or whoever else unfortunate enough to carry that strap to the ring against me...I promise you this...I'm going to beat you."
Reaching up with his spare hand, Salem grabbed the camera and pulled it close, flipping his hair back to show his wide, puffy eyes, red and bothered from the intense emotions running through the rookie right then. He snarled with every word, his demeanor snapping entirely from the sympathetic hero he had been before to a more aggressive, assertive disposition.
"I'll beat you because no matter what you do, no matter what you say, you can't hold back my ability, my potential, or my desire to succeed in this industry! For a year that title sat collecting dust on a shelf before I came along and breathed new life into it and inspired people to fight for it! Now, it's the only singles title worth a damn, next to the world championship! So enjoy holding onto that belt, Cartwright...heavy is the head that wears the crown, but even heavier is the guillotine coming down to cleave it off your shoulders!"
Pushing the lens from his face, the reporter stumbled back as the shaky frame caught sight of Salem turning around and twisting the doorknob in one firm, fluid motion, swinging it open and stepping inside before slamming it shut behind him. The thunderclap of wood breaching the frame echoed down the hall, the door rattling enough to knock the newly placed nameplate right off the door...coming to rest on the ground next to a pair of faded brown pennies.
Finally, the freshman fighter had led the reporter to his private room, the nameplate having already been removed. Hesitating to look at the headline heralded on the door, Croft's eyes studied the words Asylum Champion - Cartwright where his own name had once been just a few minutes before. It'd only been twice that he'd stuck his neck out for the title in question, but that didn't stop the rookie from feeling disheartened as he reached for the door, it's silver knob already feeling foreign to him. At this moment, the voyeur digitally broadcasting this feed to the arena decided to interject, imposing a question on the unusually quiet Calamity.
"Hey, Salem?" the cameraman inquired, causing Croft to pause and glance over his shoulder into the lens. Upon seeing it, he immediately turned his face away, sighing from either his injuries or the inconvenience. Regardless, Salem didn't open the door just yet, replying to the man without looking his way.
"...What?" the rookie responded, his tone short and irritated, but it was clear that something else was on his mind, bothering him.
The reporter paused a second, perhaps intimidated by Salem's reply or realizing the personal moment he was encroaching upon. Phrasing his next sentence very carefully, the journalist finally posed his question to the ailing Croft.
"Sorry to bother you - I was just hoping to get a word about how you feel right now, for all your fans out there." Salem turned his eyes back to the camera as he heard this, his vision veiled by his shaggy black bangs, but that didn't stop his momentary impulse of anger from showing through, nostrils flaring momentarily before he was forced to hang his head to avoid enraging himself. This was a sensitive side of Salem that the M.W. Deuce didn't enjoy displaying.
"It's no secret that you've been out to restore the Asylum Championship to its former glory since winning it from The Number Three...and against all odds, you managed to retain it from the former champion and Bison Mbadi in a triple threat match. But tonight, we all witnessed Cartwright pin you for the title, despite your brave effort to marginalize his wily antics. Any thoughts you'd like to share with your supporters out there about what's next for you?"
Salem's shoulders shrugged a little as a soft laugh escaped his lips, letting go of the door to turn around and face the camera, lifting his chin and reaching up with one bloodstained hand wrap to brush his bangs from his face. A bittersweet smile was on the lad's lips, his eyes flipping through the painful trials he'd overcome up until now with his beloved title in-tow. His nose wrinkled just a little as sadness crept into his veins, blood running cold through his chest at the thought of no longer carrying his cherished championship. Reaching up to rub his chin, he hung his head a little, shying from facing his fans who were surely staring intently at him from the other side of the video feed.
"You know, I have half a mind to say "******** off" right now and let you get your sound bite from someone else..." Salem started, his voice somewhat shaky but wholly serious. "...but, you're right - I owe my fans something. I owe them an apology...I'm sorry that I wasn't good enough to stop that sonuvabitch from taking the most important thing in my career from me. You guys backed me up, even when I was just some fresh-faced punk off the streets, trying to get noticed. I promised you all change, and yet I've got no excuses for why I'm no longer your Asylum Champion other than that I ******** up."
Though it may have been a trick of the lighting, it almost looked as though fresh tears were starting to stain Salem's cheeks from under his den of mossy hair.
"But I have something else to say...a message for your new Asylum Champion..." the rookie's voice more resembled a growl, now - a menacing timbre that caused the cameraman to tremble slightly, shifting the angle a little as the former champion started speaking once again. "You may have beaten me tonight, Cartwright...and you might have Knight waiting in the wings for his shot at that belt...but don't you think for one second that this is over between you and I. I'll have my rematch, and whether it's you, Knight, or whoever else unfortunate enough to carry that strap to the ring against me...I promise you this...I'm going to beat you."
Reaching up with his spare hand, Salem grabbed the camera and pulled it close, flipping his hair back to show his wide, puffy eyes, red and bothered from the intense emotions running through the rookie right then. He snarled with every word, his demeanor snapping entirely from the sympathetic hero he had been before to a more aggressive, assertive disposition.
"I'll beat you because no matter what you do, no matter what you say, you can't hold back my ability, my potential, or my desire to succeed in this industry! For a year that title sat collecting dust on a shelf before I came along and breathed new life into it and inspired people to fight for it! Now, it's the only singles title worth a damn, next to the world championship! So enjoy holding onto that belt, Cartwright...heavy is the head that wears the crown, but even heavier is the guillotine coming down to cleave it off your shoulders!"
Pushing the lens from his face, the reporter stumbled back as the shaky frame caught sight of Salem turning around and twisting the doorknob in one firm, fluid motion, swinging it open and stepping inside before slamming it shut behind him. The thunderclap of wood breaching the frame echoed down the hall, the door rattling enough to knock the newly placed nameplate right off the door...coming to rest on the ground next to a pair of faded brown pennies.
