The rain pours down on the Atlantic City Boardwalk. Standing in front of the Steel Pier Amusement Park is a man wearing blue jeans and a leather jacket with a large “Saviors” emblem from The Walking Dead on it. His red bandana, drenched, sticks to his skull. Even in the darkness, the large shadow of the unlit Ferris Wheel looms overhead. Not surprisingly, there isn’t much tourist traffic with the rain coming down as hard as it is. Standing there is a man wearing blue jeans and a leather jacket with a large “Saviors” emblem from The Walking Dead on it. His red bandana, drenched, sticks to his skull. The man turns around, and looks to the camera, nearly expressionless. Lightning splits the sky and we can make out the man’s face, if only for a moment.
[VOICEOVER] “The man before you is the newest signing here in the CWF. He has been entered into a Golden Crown qualifying match by whoever is making the matches while Ataxia takes a dirt nap. He may be familiar to those who either followed Jimmy Allen’s career or a certain now defunct Atlantic City wrestling promotion. For those unfamiliar, here’s your introduction.”
”I’m not the kind of man who fears anything. Mother Nature does not bother me. Walking into a new territory does not concern me. Facing an opponent I know nothing about is completely irrelevant. I am “The Next Generation God”, K. Carlton Davison III. You will call me KC3.”
Davison stands there, cold and emotionless, unmoving, as though it isn’t even raining.
”This entire “Golden Crown” concept is a farce. I deserve better than to be thrown in with someone whose very name sounds like a Midsouth throwaway gimmick from the early 90’s. Dynamite Dynamo? I’m not even saying anything about him professionally. Believe me, kids; I’m going to touch more on that later. I am just trying to figure out what kind of doofy motherfucker writes down THAT name on an application and goes “That’s good.”
KC3 removes his bandana, allowing his long brown hair to fall in front of his face. He nonchalantly pulls his pair out of his face.
"What you have in front of you is the single hottest free agent to show up here since Jimmy Allen. I am the perfect combination of looks, intellect, athleticism, speed and skill that you could ever ask for. When KC3 walks into a room, a conversation, a company, the paradigm shifts. I am not some random Johnny-come-lately who was on the internet, found CWF and said, “I’ll go here.” for no apparent reason, My decision to come to CWF is a calculated, and dare I say, cold decision. ”
"Some of you know who my old man is. The reality of the situation is that doesn’t matter in this world. I am not my father. Just like Mariella…” KC3 winks at the camera. ”How you doing, baby? …Isn’t Eli and Freddie Styles isn’t Krayzie, I am not my father.”
KC3 raises his voice, not to a yell, but to a more emphatic tone.
"I would love to sit here and talk up this match. I would love to do what the front office wants me to do and talk about my opponent. I look up Dynamic Dynamo and I find music by Ardon Lockyer. I find “Vibrant Music Teaching”. I find RTC News. You know what I don’t find, “Skate or Die”? I don’t find you… not on Google, not anywhere. How can I get excited about someone whose mother should have swallowed? You are nothing. You are a nobody. You are beneath me.”
”As I have said, I am a known commodity. My name has value. I will say this again, it isn’t my old man’s name that has value. That’s why I won’t say it. It is MY name that has value. I have a championship pedigree as well as a championship resume: Tag Team Champion with Jimmy Allen. While that means nothing in the ring, it means something outside of it. It puts ass in seats. It makes my fans want to tune into CWF programming. It means that I am better than you. My resume shows that. My actions, in the ring, will prove that. Unless, of course, I give you a pass. I could just as easily beat your ass and then walk out, giving you the count out victory.”
A sly smirk crosses KC3’s face as lighting once again splits the sky.
”Now, you may ask yourself, “Why would he do that? Which is, if I do say so myself, an excellent question. Instead of letting your mind wander, I will actually give you the answer. It is because I have no desire to carry the Maestro or Reggie T. Rascal. I am not here for anyone but myself. I have no desire to help someone else make their name simply by riding on their coattails.”
”When Jimmy Allen and I were a united front, we were a catalyst for change. We stood at the forefront and put our feet down, crushing our opponents under our feet. The only reason we were ever dethroned is because I decided that the company we worked for was too small for my liking.”
Davison shrugs his shoulders.
"Selfish? Perhaps it was. However, it was for my own betterment. I travelled the world. I worked in Europe, Mexico and Japan to better my skills. I have learned how to use different styles, and perhaps more importantly, I have learned to stand my ground against those styles. I guess that’s one advantage you might have over my, Dynamo. I’ve never had to face “white trash.” before.”
KC3 holds up his fist and loosens his grip. From inside his palm, sand begins to slowly fall from his hand to the ground.
”Your time, Dynamite, is running out. Like sands from the hourglass, each second passes, bringing you closer and closer to our intertwined destinies. However, there is nothing you will be able to do to overcome “The Next Generation God.” You will soon realize that when you are God, you don’t have to break the rules. You make them. And as for you?"
KC3 opens up his palm and blows the last few grains of sand from his hand, or at least the ones that aren’t soaked to his palm from the rain.
"Your time… is running out."
Davison lets a smirk cross his face and the camera zooms in upon it before slowly fading to black.