The camera shot fades in from black, showing Salem Croft sitting in the WWFG locker room, a black duffle bag next to him while he sat on the bench with a knee perched up. "The Copperhead" was still in street clothes, a Nirvana t-shirt with the sleeves removed to show off his many tattoos, leading down his arms to wrists and hands he'd started taping. A contemplative look was on his stubble-strewn face, dark eyes looking down at his hands with a depth and intensity of someone with a lot of their mind, and not sure how to express it. Without looking up at the cameraman, Salem spoke to whoever was listening.
"You know...I remember my first time setting foot in here." he started off, just a hint of happiness in his voice. "When I first cut my teeth in the industry, it was here. Day one. WrestleMania. Kicking off an award-winning, critically acclaimed rookie season. No regrets. I had the world in front of me, it felt like. Then I won Money in the Bank, I was shooting my shot against one of the greatest I've ever seen, a man on my Mount Rushmore of wrestlers and friends...I lost to Cartwright."
Salem sighed, reaching up to ruffle his thick, shaggy black hair, stroking his chin almost compulsively before returning to his task.
"I went to a dark place for a while. Found myself getting harder and harder to look at. I told myself I could be one of the best ig I tried to. I knew from jump that there were wolves in sheep's clothing circling me, people who saw me more as a threat than a friend, only patting me on the back to find a spot for the knife. I regretted a lot in those days. I fell back on what I was used to, keeping distant, running with a tight circle, but I didn't know what I wanted next for myself. Until I was asked to step up, lead this place into a new direction. Looking back, I don't know what I was thinking. On second thought, I knew what I was thinking - I wanted to make this place better. Maybe I wasn't going to get the glory I wanted, but perhaps I could be the owner WWFG needed. But when you can't trust the people around you, when you feel like people are just waiting for you to fail, how are you supposed to believe in yourself? There was a lot I regretted about having that position, but nothing more so than what happened next. I never wanted to overstay my welcome, I just wanted to go back to wrestling. I was tired of the politics, even though that's what I took the job to stop. I chose Claire to succeed me, heard her promise to be fair and try to make the place better...and she proceeded to make my life Hell, even firing me twice, all for the same petty games that'd been played here since as long as I could remember. I was so jaded, so dejected, I almost gave up on my dream of ever accomplishing anything here, in the company that meant so much to me. The place I always considered my first and true home. That was, until my friend Cartwright asked me for a match, some years ago..."
Salem's fists tighten, the tape making a rubbery squeak as it flexes around his knuckles, taking a minute before starting to wrap his other hand and wrist.
"What I thought would be a chance to relive some of the joy I used to have for wrestling here, wrestling a man I loved and respected, turned into a beating that nearly took my life and left me out of competition for years. I watched my best friend take a bat to my throat. My family watched me relearn how to eat, how to talk, how to rebuild my body despite so many painful surgeries, memories, and regrets. I questioned myself so many times as to why I was doing this, what reason I had to try and come back here. I couldn't answer. But then I saw an invitation to a tournament, for the world title I always dreamed of earning, in the company I loved more than any other, hosted by the very son of a b***h that left me wanting to give up on that dream. Looking around, I'm the only one in this tournament that hasn't ever held the world title, or any title, in this federation. The owner hates me, and I guarantee that at least part of the reason he invited me to this was to see if I had the nerve to show up. Well, I did, and I do, and I am going to win this tournament because I'm tired of regrets. I've held myself back long enough. It's time I remind everyone of why I shook the community when I debuted. It's time I stop getting in my own way...and if that means I gotta fight a guy I like and respect in Drako Damone in the semi finals, so be it. I've clashed with and against his family over and over, the only thing different about this time is that I don't want to hurt my friend. But I want something else more, and if I have to drag Drako around that ring until he's bloody, that's exactly what I'll do."
Salem looks up at the camera at this, making an almost prayer like gesture with his well taped hands, an almost sympathetic look in his previously vicious eyes.
"So please, Drako. Don't have any hard feelings, because I won't have any regrets."
With that, Salem stood up and grabbed his duffle bag, turning away from the camera and towards the exit to the locker room, smacking the WWFG sign with a firm thud as he passed, not looking back.
"You know...I remember my first time setting foot in here." he started off, just a hint of happiness in his voice. "When I first cut my teeth in the industry, it was here. Day one. WrestleMania. Kicking off an award-winning, critically acclaimed rookie season. No regrets. I had the world in front of me, it felt like. Then I won Money in the Bank, I was shooting my shot against one of the greatest I've ever seen, a man on my Mount Rushmore of wrestlers and friends...I lost to Cartwright."
Salem sighed, reaching up to ruffle his thick, shaggy black hair, stroking his chin almost compulsively before returning to his task.
"I went to a dark place for a while. Found myself getting harder and harder to look at. I told myself I could be one of the best ig I tried to. I knew from jump that there were wolves in sheep's clothing circling me, people who saw me more as a threat than a friend, only patting me on the back to find a spot for the knife. I regretted a lot in those days. I fell back on what I was used to, keeping distant, running with a tight circle, but I didn't know what I wanted next for myself. Until I was asked to step up, lead this place into a new direction. Looking back, I don't know what I was thinking. On second thought, I knew what I was thinking - I wanted to make this place better. Maybe I wasn't going to get the glory I wanted, but perhaps I could be the owner WWFG needed. But when you can't trust the people around you, when you feel like people are just waiting for you to fail, how are you supposed to believe in yourself? There was a lot I regretted about having that position, but nothing more so than what happened next. I never wanted to overstay my welcome, I just wanted to go back to wrestling. I was tired of the politics, even though that's what I took the job to stop. I chose Claire to succeed me, heard her promise to be fair and try to make the place better...and she proceeded to make my life Hell, even firing me twice, all for the same petty games that'd been played here since as long as I could remember. I was so jaded, so dejected, I almost gave up on my dream of ever accomplishing anything here, in the company that meant so much to me. The place I always considered my first and true home. That was, until my friend Cartwright asked me for a match, some years ago..."
Salem's fists tighten, the tape making a rubbery squeak as it flexes around his knuckles, taking a minute before starting to wrap his other hand and wrist.
"What I thought would be a chance to relive some of the joy I used to have for wrestling here, wrestling a man I loved and respected, turned into a beating that nearly took my life and left me out of competition for years. I watched my best friend take a bat to my throat. My family watched me relearn how to eat, how to talk, how to rebuild my body despite so many painful surgeries, memories, and regrets. I questioned myself so many times as to why I was doing this, what reason I had to try and come back here. I couldn't answer. But then I saw an invitation to a tournament, for the world title I always dreamed of earning, in the company I loved more than any other, hosted by the very son of a b***h that left me wanting to give up on that dream. Looking around, I'm the only one in this tournament that hasn't ever held the world title, or any title, in this federation. The owner hates me, and I guarantee that at least part of the reason he invited me to this was to see if I had the nerve to show up. Well, I did, and I do, and I am going to win this tournament because I'm tired of regrets. I've held myself back long enough. It's time I remind everyone of why I shook the community when I debuted. It's time I stop getting in my own way...and if that means I gotta fight a guy I like and respect in Drako Damone in the semi finals, so be it. I've clashed with and against his family over and over, the only thing different about this time is that I don't want to hurt my friend. But I want something else more, and if I have to drag Drako around that ring until he's bloody, that's exactly what I'll do."
Salem looks up at the camera at this, making an almost prayer like gesture with his well taped hands, an almost sympathetic look in his previously vicious eyes.
"So please, Drako. Don't have any hard feelings, because I won't have any regrets."
With that, Salem stood up and grabbed his duffle bag, turning away from the camera and towards the exit to the locker room, smacking the WWFG sign with a firm thud as he passed, not looking back.
