Diego Cortez vs The Great Muta

[Diego Cortez]

Standing in his locker room at the arena, Diego Cortez is wearing an expensive and impeccably tailored suit, his hair is styled and his eyes are covered by designer sunglasses. With his duffel bag full of wrestling gear at his feet, Diego Cortez is ready to step back into the ring. The memories of what took place in his past will be with him forever but they are not an excuse for failure. With slow, deliberate motions Diego cracks his knuckles and turns and faces the camera with a picture of his ex-wife in his hand. It is a brutal reminder of the price of failure and Diego refuses to shy away from his past. There are consequences for not being the best and Diego Cortez will never let himself pay those prices again.

Smiling grimly at the thought of the Great Muta, Diego Cortez reaches up and pulls of his sunglasses. With eyes shining wickedly, Diego begins to speak in an absolutely merciless voice.

The Great Muta. A legend in the world of professional wrestling. Guess what? That and a dollar will buy you a cup of coffee at MacDonald's. Nobody cares about you anymore Muta. Coughing green crap up on your opponents? That's not legendary...that's something you need to have checked out by a doctor. The Great Muta, just one more old timer too dumb to know when his time is over. But don't you worry Muta, I'm going to help you. I'm going to put you out of your misery and when this is over this Friday people aren't going to call it a wrestling match...they're going to call it a mercy killing.

Long ago I failed once and I promised myself that it would never happen again...and it hasn't. I have done every single thing I have set out to accomplish from that point on. Yes, there are times some of the battles in my life have set me back a step but in the end I have ALWAYS won the war. Not the majority of the time. EVERY SINGLE TIME. I am a winner and I will always be a winner. I am the new standard around here and Muta like the rest will learn where their place is in the new pecking order of DHWA, in my shadow. I am not like any of these poor excuses for wrestlers around this federation. I am better than all of them. I am better than they could ever dream of being. I am not simply on another level, I am on another plane of reality. Greatness will shine in DHWA and it's name is Diego Cortez. That is not opinion. That is fact.

Slipping his sunglasses back on Diego Cortez looks into the camera. Shrugging out of his suit jacket Diego slings it over a shoulder.

I am better than any single person who has ever stepped foot in a wrestling ring. I am better than anyone this business has ever turned out, I am better than anyone who has ever graced the squared circle. I am better than them all and this Friday you will have no choice but to bow down and acknowledge the sheer greatness of Diego Cortez. At Massacre I will not only win the match against Muta, that is simply not up for debate, I will cement the legacy of Diego Cortez in stone. It is going to happen and there is nothing anyone can do about that. When I step into the ring with this so-called legend I will show the world the difference between being a legend...and being legendary.

Unbuttoning his shirt, Diego Cortez pulls it off and tosses it aside. Ripping the sunglasses from his face Diego tosses them aside as well. With eyes glinting wildly, Diego flexes his pecs as he points into the camera with a savage look.

Muta. Once you step into that ring with me at Massacre, you will learn the proper respect for your DHWA future world champion. I'm going to show you what a true massacre is...and you will break...or you will be broken.

In a slow, deliberate motion Diego lifts his hand and flips off the camera before turning around and walking out of sight as the scene fades

[The Great Muta (T)]

Oh, man. This is great. Absolutely gold.

My first RP is about half done and I really look forward to see where this goes in the near future.

Good luck, brother.

[The Great Muta (T)]

“THE SENSEI OF STYLE”

The camera pans around the sold-out crowd in attendance for Friday Night Massacre while spotlights glide across signs and other memorabilia including t-shirts, stuffed animals in wrestling gear and posters that they purchased before entering their seats. The fans’ cheering and chants almost drown out the official theme music of the program before being cut through by the always welcoming and familiar voice of Good ol’ J.R., Jim Ross.

-x[Jim Ross | Good ol’ J.R.]x-
Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to the most jammed-pack wrestling program on cable television, DHWA Friday Night Massacre.

After a quiet, rough laugh, Jerry “The King” Lawler inserts himself into the introduction.

-x[Jerry Lawler | The King]x-
That’s right, J.R.. Here in DHWA, we have some of the greatest names in the pro wrestling business, coupled with some of the fastest-rising superstars the world will someday realize as all-time greats! You don’t get this anywhere else, J.R.

We now catch a shot of J.R. and The King at ringside, sitting comfortably in their large leather chairs with headsets caressing their head and ears. The King smiles and passes his attention between the camera and J.R. as the legendary ring announcer continues with his praising of the promotion. J.R. has his signature cowboy placed on his head, paired with a black DHWA polo shirt. Lawler wears a burgundy t-shirt with silver, black and gold designs across the chest and abdomen, working their selves around a black crest in the center with a silver crown in the middle of it. The designs shimmer in the light as The King smiles to the camera with a small nod.

-x[Jim Ross | Good ol’ J.R.]x-
Once again, folks, I’m joined by the broadcast partner, The King, Jerry Lawler, who you obviously know from his legendary pro wrestling career that spans over forty years, and I am of course, Good ol’ J.R., Jim Ross. We are more than flattered to have you joining us for this evening of spectacular in-ring action.

-x[Jerry Lawler | The King]x-
Yes, J.R.! The DHWA is the ELITE brand of pro wrestling, and us raving on and on about it surely won’t do it any justice.

-x[Jim Ross | Good ol’ J.R.]x-
Yes, King. We can’t do it any justice, but we can try. Want to know how good Friday Night Massacre is and what separates it from every other organization? Keep your eyes glued to the screen and check out the talent that we have to offer you tonight.

A bit of seriousness comes into The King’s voice as his tone lowers and turns towards J.R. a little.

-x[Jerry Lawler | The King]x-
Now, J.R., the word talent is a very good word, and it describes one of the men we have here on Friday Night Massacre, and that is… The Great Muta.

Lawler looks back into the camera as J.R. elaborates on Muta.

-x[Jim Ross | Good ol’ J.R.]x-
Yes, King. Fans, The Great Muta is one of the most legendary wrestlers to come from Japan. I’ve known The Great Muta for many years – almost 30 – from the NWA and WCW. The Great Muta is an icon from top to bottom and will surely entertain you like he has for many years, all over the world.

-x[Jerry Lawler | The King]x-
Of course, J.R. The Great Muta is surely a force to be reckoned w-

The lights instantly go out in the arena, the fans uproar in a mix of cheers and a sort of w-t-f reaction to the sudden change of lighting.

-x[Jim Ross | Good ol’ J.R.]x-
W- What…?

We transition from a shot of the black out in the sold out arena to a peaceful park of sorts. The soothing sound of rushing water splashes its way through the P.A. system as the video continues on the titantron. As the camera pans outward, we see a pond with orange fish waltzing around, once again, very peacefully, much like the setting we’ve been introduced to. Large green trees reach up from the ground and towards the sky like hands reaching towards the brass ring so many competitors here in the DHWA wish to capture. Pale, pink sakura trees are mixed in with the eye-catching green trees creating a deep sense of contrast for the viewer. We see a bridge with dark, wooden rails which stand out against the lighter flooring of the bridge. The camera pans out entirely, revealing the smiling face of the Doctor of Style, The Slickster himself.

-x[Slick | The Doctor of Style]x-
Welcome, my friends. All of you. Aren’t you just relaxed? I am. You see, this, all you see, to me, is complete and total relaxation. No screamin’, no fightin’.. Just relaxin’. Like a cat on a hot summer’s day. All he wants to do is lie in the sun and take it allllll in. Take this in, brotha, feeeeeeel the re-lax-ashe-unn, yeahh.

The camera comes back a little more, showing a different Slick. Obviously older, Slick’s hair is much thinner and is tighter to his head as opposed to his almost signature Jerry Curl-esque haircut, but is mostly covered with a red fedora, one of his more traditional headpieces. He smiles at the camera as we see him standing in a blue kimono, a traditional Japanese garment. The light and deep blues that carry from the shoulder down to the ankle are spotted with red and pink flowers with green leaves. He has his cane in his hand and twists it around with his other hand as he speaks.

-x[Slick | The Doctor of Style]x-
Ha.. No fightin’, no nothin’, brothaa. You see, that’s what this world needs, man, RELAXATION! If everyone in the world relaxed a bit, brotha, there’d be no wars, there’d be no fightin’, there’d be no killin’. Everyone would just be.. Re-laxed. Isn’t that great, friends? Relaxed. Just like me! That’s how everyone should be. Just. Like. Me. Everyone will be perfect, and most importantly…

Slick starts to walk side-on to the camera, travelling down a paved path. He looks down towards his feet as he struts passing his cane from hand to hand. He looks towards the camera.

-x[Slick | The Doctor of Style]x-
… Relaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaxed…

Slick lets out a loud laugh, still strutting down the path.

-x[Slick | The Doctor of Style]x-
Now, you’re probably lookin’ at me and askin’: Slick, you’re awwwful differ-rent. Brotha, I changed up my entire way of livin’, man. Tha trooth. The Slickster is no longer stressed, he’s relaaaaxxedddd. As you can tell, relaxation is the HEART of what I’m saying here tonight, it’s my message, I’m the messenger…

Slick stops, looks up a bit and cracks a smile with a chuckle before looking at the camera. The camera pans out once more and we see The Great Muta in his entrance attire. His face is covered in his entrance headgear, a blue variation to match his blue sequin robe.

-x[Slick | The Doctor of Style]x-
… The messenger of the Great Muta!

Muta hisses at the mention of his name, adjusting his stance, twisting his head around in a wild manner, like something straight out of the jungle. He raises his right hand up, chest-level, clenching his hand, still hissing.

-x[Slick | The Doctor of Style]x-
Yours truly, THA SLICKSTA. The brotha formerly known as the doctor of style, presently, the SENSEI of style, brotha. You see, man, The Great Muta is stepping in the ring tonight on Friday Night Massacre, stepping into the riiiiing with a joke, a flash in the pan, a nobody, Diego C-.. C-…

Slick takes a quick glance at his hand.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
CORTEZ. COR-TEZ. His name is so damn forgettable I hand to write it on a playa’s hand, maan. Listen to the Slickster as he cuts you off a slice of advice, Cortez: run. Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun. Strong words, man, strong words, but actions, Diego, ACTIONS speak a helluva lot lounder than words, brotha. You see, man, THIS MAN, The Great MUTA, is one of the most legendary personalities that’s ever stepped into the squared circle that you, and many others here in the DHWA, are trying to make a name for yourself in, man. You say that’s he’s another old timer who’s too senile to quit? No, no way, Jose, this man, this MONSTER, The Great Muta is still around because he is the BEST at what he does. You can’t beat him with his quickness. He’s like a cat, man, but I’ll leave it to Muta to prove that to you, brotha. He’s unbeatable, untouchable, and with Slick, the sensei of style, by his side. Maaaaaaaaaan, you’ve got someone else to worry about, man.

Muta lets out a louder hiss now, animating the slitting of a throat with his thumb against his own.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
Just relax, though, brotha, let it all go, man. Let your walls down, let it all go away.. The good and the bad; especially the bad – but I’ll get to that at a later time, haha. Let your defenses down, relax and just submit to the legacy and absolute dominance of The Great Muta. This man is a second generation superstar, the son of The Great Kabuki, a STAPLE in Japanese wrestling, and even despite the accolades his father has collected over his decorated and stories career, The Great Muta has surpassed his father in every shape and form, brotha. Doesn’t that say somethin’, man? If he can surpass the man that put him on this earth, he can surpass a NOBODY like you, in fact, he already has. You’re nothing more than a little boy in a man’s world who thinks he’s the best. That’s the one difference between you and I, child. I CAAAME into this business at the age of 29 years old, and much like you, I paraded around the back, and I paraded around in and out of that ring, screamin’ on the top of my lungs, “I’M THE BEST”. But the difference is, brotha, you THINK it, I KNEW it, ‘cause I’m still the best and no one, not even a snot nosed punk like you can talk, walk, or even daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaance the way that the sensei of style can, brotha, no matter how hard you try, no matter how long you train, you will only com short. The Great Muta is the definition of training hard and using every bit of his ability to be number one and that’s why he’s here and that’s why he’s still number one. What number are you, brotha?

The Slickster flashes a cocky smile as Muta's right hand slowly reaches up, holding his throat, massaging it softly.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
So, count them numbers, brotha, count them blessings that you’ve got left, and count them bruises that with stay with you till the day they lower you into the suffocating, wet and COLD dirt on the day of your funeral – but once again, I’ll get to that at a later time, hahaha. Take a slice of advice from the Slickster if you will, brotha, and runnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. Run as fast as you can, as far as you can ‘cause he’s comin’. The pearl. Of the Orient. Is comin’ for you and is comin’ for the win. Don’t. Look. Back.

Slick laughs as The Great Muta rips the covering from his head, spitting a cloudy red mist into the air like lava exploding from a volcano. He looks towards the camera as the blood red powder settles around his mouth. He hisses before the camera pans upward towards the sky, fading to black.

-EORP-

[Diego Cortez]

Excellent work. ;D In the words of good ol' JR...w're gonna have us a slobberknocker.

[The Great Muta (T)]

Thanks a lot, man, and we definitely are. Let's tear it up.

[Diego Cortez]

Stepping through the curtains onto the ramp as "Face to the Floor" booms through the arena, Diego Cortez ignores the boo's and cheers of the crowd and strides purposefully down to the ring. With an arrogant and wolfish expression on his face and a mic in his hand, Diego climbs onto the ring apron and paces back and forth staring derisively at Slick and Muta.

So this is what a legend looks like....

Walking slowly around the ring on the apron, Diego appraises his opponent and mouthpiece with what can only be described as less than admiration.

The only thing I see in the ring are two legendary failures. Two pathetic chumps who are doing their best to try to appear relevent to a world that has long ago moved on. I hear alot of talk...but do you know what it sounds like? It sounds like exactly what it is. A sophmoric attempt to convince these people that you are actually more than a glorified stepping stone for the real athletes of DHWA...namely, me. Granted, considering what morons these fans are it's a good plan. I mean these are the same numbnuts who think Stone Cold is another...legend.

To a huge negative reaction from the fans, Diego hops down and paces around outside perusing the fans in the front row. Suddenly stopping Diego leans over the railing, grabs a young blonde female fan and with a wink plants a deep kiss on her as her boyfriend stands next to her slack jawed and uncomprehending. Finally letting the girl go, Diego Cortez smiles at the girl and shoves the now furious boyfriend down into his seat as security runs in to intervene and keep the fans from jumping the railings. Turning back to Muta and Slick, Diego points a finger at them.

While you two stand in the ring preening and touting about how legendary you are like a couple of adolescent schoolgirls, I take what I want.

Diego turns slightly to point the girl in the front row with a dumbstruck smile on her face

Whether it's a kiss from some skank like that or your diginity and pride in the middle of that ring, it doesn't matter. Nobody and nothing can stop Diego Cortez. I am the alpha male of DHWA and whatever you've done in the past doesn't mean one single thing. The only thing that matters is what you're going to do now....

Jumping back on to the ring apron Diego reaches behind him and pulls out a length of hose filled with ball bearings and swinging the wicked looking weapon in his fist gives the two men in the ring the bird with his other hand as his eyes flash cockily.

...and what you're going to do now is wonder what the hell happened as you lay on your backs, staring up at the lights and hear the referee count the 1..2..3.

Stepping through the ropes with a look of bad intentions, Diego Cortez suddenly stops and does a double take as he notices a woman standing in the shadows at the top of the ramp. Abandoning his plans for Slick and Muta, Diego Cortez quickly exits the ring and takes off up the ramp in pursuit of the woman who silently disappears into the back, leaving everyone in the arena wondering just what is going on.

[The Great Muta (T)]

“HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY”

We fade in from commercial break, instantly welcomed by the face of the newly reformatted Sensei of Style, formerly the Doctor of Style, Reverend Slick, who as we have learned, has changed his entire way of living to bring relaxation into his life while working alongside professional wrestling icon, the Pearl of the Orient, The Great Muta. The Slickster has a wide smile on his face as he looks upwards with his jaw out in a superiority-esque manner.

-x[Jerry Lawler | The King]x-
Not this guy again…

Jerry sighs while he camera pans out a slight bit and we see two other people, The Great Muta, the man who will be facing Diego Cortez in the squared circle tonight, standing behind Slick with a scowl on his face. His signature headgear that he wears to the ring is removed, revealing the mask he has chosen for tonight’s match, one side white, the other blue. He snarls at the camera as standing to Slick’s left hand side is Todd Grisham, shakily holding a Microphone to interview Slick. Grisham holds the mic chest level as he speaks into it.

-x[Todd Grisham | The Voice of Massacre]x-
Ladies and gentlemen, The Sensei of Style, Slick…

Almost instantly, a wave of boos carries through the arena, almost drowning out Slick as he speaks.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
Grisham, my brotha, can you feel it, man? Can you feel the relaxation?

-x[Jim Ross | Good ol’ J.R.]x-
I don’t know about feeling, but I smell something, and it sure as hell isn’t relaxation.

Lawler snickers with a giggle at J.R.’s comment.

-x[Todd Grisham | The Voice of Massacre]x-
I-!

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
Don’ answer that. Y’see, tonight, The Great Muta, the Pearl of the Orient is going out to that ring tonight and trust the sensei of style when he says that heads will rollll. I want to talk, brotha, and I want to talk real shiz, you know what I mean, Grisham? Yeah, you know, ALL YOU KNOW. Ha. I heard a lot tonight, Todd, man, and I heard enough. Here’s this KID, who THINKS he’s the man, who THINKS he’s the best in the business when he hasn’t done diddly squat. Lil’ brotha, do you honestly think that you’re better than this man, The Great Muta? That you’ve gathered more championships and accolades than this man? You see this man? He has held SIX championship belts at ONE TIME. Six straps on one man’s shoulders. What have you held that can even COMPARE to such an accomplishment? What, kid, have you done besides beat-… Heh.. Hold on.. Not yet.

The Slickster cockily smiles, adjusting his footing before continuing.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
I want to look at what this young brotha had to say about us, about The Great Muta. I want to analyse EXACTLY what he said, man, ‘cause, he’s said a lot, but just because you say a lot brotha, doesn’t mean you’re right. Well. Heh, as long as you’re not the Slickster, man.

Slick holds up his index finger.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
FIRSTLY, BROTHA! He called us legends…

The Sensei of Style stares into the camera with fire in his eyes, pointing his erected index finger towards it with a scowl of his face now to match Muta’s.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
YOUNG BROTHA YOU ARE RIGHT. The Great Muta and I are not legends. WE’RE GODS. THE HOLY ONES of the pro wrestling industry. The best of the best, and to hell with the rest, and most importantly, you, but once again, at a later time.

His middle finger then extends upward.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
SECONDLY, he calls us irrelevant. Brotha, if we’re not relevant, why the hell is the Slickster still lean and mean with his pockets full of green? Answer me that one, huh? We are relevant because we BUILT this business. Is Bruno Sammartino irrelevant? NO. Is the IMMORTAL, Hulk Hogan irrelevant? NO. Is Diego Cortez irrelevant? WHO IN THE SWEET JIVIN’ JESUS IS DIEGO CORTEZ? HA. Answered my own question that time.

The Great Muta drags his thumb against his throat with his tongue extended. His tongue is tattooed with the red dye from earlier when he shot the red mist into the air like a hellish geyser. Slick’s ring finger pops up now with a smirk on his face, almost trying to keep in his laughter.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
Thirdly, probably the most RIDICULOUS insult I’ve ever heard. Get this, he called us SCHOOLGIRLS. What do you have to say about that, Muta?

-x[The Great Muta | The Peal of the Orient]x-
(For centuries woman has fed off of man like the bloodsucking leaches that they are, and always have been, until man is weak and poor and is forced to commit the fatal sin of suicide.)

Slick snickers as Muta drags his thumb across his throat again with his red tongue extended. His tongue retracts and Muta crouches ever so slightly, while he grabs his throat, pressing in with his thumb and middle finger. His eyes close as Slick continues talking.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
Boy, I can SEE Rick Martel, I can SEE Lanny Poffo, I CAN SEE THE ULTIMATE WARRIOR, BROTHA, BUT ONE THING THE GREAT MUTA AND THE SLICKSTER ARE NOT ARE GURLS. I’ve been called many things, everything from a Jive Soul Bro to THE WORD – need I go any further..? Brotha, I’ve heard a lot and I’ve seen a lot but when I heard you say that word, schoolgirls.. When I seen your thin little lips smackin’ against one another like your fists against your w-…

Slick laughs, wagging his finger at the camera.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
This is the good part, now, I-!

Todd Grisham retracts the microphone quickly as Slick opens his mouth.

-x[Todd Grisham | The Voice of Massacre]x-
I’m sorry Slick, I’m being informed by our producer here at Friday Night Massacre that we’ve run out of time and I need t-!

Slick turns towards Grisham with anger present on his face.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
First of all, brotha, to you, and ANYONE else who wants to reference me in any sort of fashion, you must refer to me as MISTER SLICKSTER, BROTHA. Second of all, you can tell your pencil neck geek of a producer that he can go spend a night in the ghetto because NO ONE tells the Sensei of Style when to STOP, no matter who they are.

Grisham retracts his microphone again, making Slick get very angry. His eyes bug out, his lips quiver, his fists clench. Even though the Slickster is visibly insulted by this, Grisham speaks into the mic.

-x[Todd Grisham | The Voice of Massacre]x-
I-!

Slick snatches the mic from Grisham’s hand.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
Gimme that goddamn-..

Slick holds the microphone up to his chin and sticks his finger in Grisham’s face, how starts to cower away.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
LISTEN, YOU NEVER, EVER TAKE AWAY A MICROPHONE FROM A BROTHA WHEN HE IS SPEAKIN’, MAN. IF YOU WANT TO START SOMETHIN’, START SOMETHIN’! AFTER THE GREAT MUTA IS FINISHED EATIN’ THAT MARK FOR BREAKFAST OUT THERE TONIGHT, DON’T BE SURPRISED IF HE COMES LOOKING FOR YOU FOR SECONDS. GET YO PUNK ASS OUTTA HERE.

Slick faces the camera now, and almost instantly, the angry expression we’ve seen just a moment ago, almost instantly fades into a welcoming and relaxed smile.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
Now, friends, before I was rudely interrupted, I was going to get down and dirty like the Slickster only knows how to do. ‘Cause fans, I’ve said it before; I truly believe that honesty is the best policy and I am a honest man. I am the most honest one of them all, brotha, but I know someone who’s not honest. I know someone who’s dishonest, dishonest like the man, big brother. A dishonest man and more importantly a dishonest husband. Brothas and sistas, and more importantly YOU Mr. Cortez, tell me how in the hell a man who lays his hands on his own wife should ever be revered and respected? Tell me one who is. TELL ME ONE MAN WHO BEAT HIS WOMAN LIKE A TWO-DOLLAR TRAMP and hasn’t gone on without being related to that one, two or three times that he has done so. ‘Cause there’s none. YOU, Diego Cortez are scum. Not the kind of scum that gets left behind in a brotha’s shower, but the kind of scum that lives and breathes of being vile and vindictive. The kind of scum that LIVES AND BREATHES off of other’s misfortunes, even if it was the one that he loves more than anything in the world. More than his job, more than his money, more than himself. Sadly, Cortez, I don’t think you have room for your loved ones. Your young, naïve mind is too preoccupied with the material world. I was like you once, man. I’m not afraid to admit it. I wanted the world, I wanted the jet airplanes, the bright lights and brotha, all the yard bird I could ever dream of. But the difference is… I got it. I have it. See all this? These lights, these cameras.. They’re mine, because I MADE THEM. I made it possible for you to make a living because AIII put my entire soul into this business and made it possible for you to put food on you and your wife’s table and clothes on you and your wife’s back. THE CLOTHES, DIEGO, THE CLOTHES THAT COVER UP THOSE BRUISES THAT YOU LEFT ON HER HEAVING BACK AS SHE SOBBED. All wounds heal, but scars are forever. Physical and mental.. I truly hope that that moment stays with you till the day that you’re bruised and beaten to the point that YOU can’t go on any longer. I hope you feel as deprived and cut off as that poor woman of yours was. I hope you never live it down. I didn’t get to the top of the wrestling world by beating defenceless women… Neither should anyone like you…

Slick chuckles with a smirk.

-x[Slick | The Sensei of Style]x-
Honesty is the best policy.

Slick drops the mic with a sinister laugh deep from the pit of his stomach. The Great Muta hisses before blowing a mushroom cloud of green mist into the air, settling behind him. The Great Muta extends his tongue one more time, slitting his throat with his thumb before pointing at the camera with eyes wide open and vengeful.

The two leave the set. Almost instantly, Diego Cortez walks into view with a scowl on his face. He looks down at a small polaroid photo before looking up, trembling with anger. The crowd slightly boo as Diego tries to retain his temper.

-x[Jim Ross | Good ol’ J.R.]x-
That was uncalled for…

Diego looks back down at the photo before we fade to black.

-EORP-

OOC: I have PM’d Diego and have received permission to have him cameo in my RP. Also, the bit that Muta says is in Japanese, hence the brackets.