The Artoria Compound. Spotlights start turning on to great musical fanfare, travelling up a great staircase before reaching the man at the top.
Silas raises his arms as the grand “ta-dah” emanates in the room!
SILAS: Welcome to my home!
Confetti cannons blast debris into the air, startling an apparently unsuspecting Silas. He quickly recovers and reverts his attention back to the camera; he walks down the steps with a welcoming demeanor.
SILAS: Welcome! Welcome. With more time, I would’ve shown you all my entire cathedral of arts and culture; my family are descendants of great explorers. But time is not on our side, so let’s talk about what is important in the context of my address.
He reaches the bottom of the stairs. The spotlights turn off, with Silas being exclusively lit by the eerie light radiating from four televisions, tuned to dead channels.
SILAS: When Worlds Collide isn’t just an interfed conflict in which only one will ultimately reign above others, it’s an opportunity for those competing for their federation. It’s a chance to prove that you matter, that you are one of the most valuable athletes in the industry, both in and out of your chosen company. And what better way to do that then to earn a WCWA championship, in my case the US title? It proves those who have doubted you wrong, and your presence will turn heads and receive respect.
The televisions tune to channels of Silas, showing his defeats over the past year, and his tone takes on an pained expression.
SILAS: Observe, all my defeats. It may portray me as an ineffective and weak contender, but there is value in losses. It’s a lesson learned, and one that’s much more resonant. I took those lessons, refined then, and the results are what you are going to see within this match.
You will bare witness to the fruit of my labour, as I raise the US title on behalf of the CWF...
...and four athletes stand in between me and that title.
The televisions switch to different channels, audio classing as different commentators and match impacts echo throughout the dark foyer. The silhouette of Silas raises his arms, and he calls the names of the subjects on the screens.
His arms lower as a faint light brightens his face; a mischievous smile emerging.
SILAS: Look at them...fighting like ants.
Impressive, aren’t they? It’s the reason why they are in this match against me, it’s because they are among the best their company has to offer, and that makes me very, very worried.
But that feeling also means I’m not stupid. In fact, it’s a benefit. It means my awareness and reflexes are on alert, and it makes up for the nagging head injury.
They’re dangerous, unpredictable, and challenging.
But I’ve defeated nightmares, and I’m bringing that WCWA US Championship home.
Besides, can’t let my friend, Shadow, have all the fun.
He winks. Fade out.
"The concession stands are now selling those cheap hotel room round soap disks that I have personally blessed for $100’s a bar….AND SINNERS….I suggest you buy one, and use it, because if you think your God wants you in his heaven smelling like a 3am New York City uber ride you got another thing coming."