First class room, wide open with a reflective floor. A comfortable armchair with a lit table light is the only thing occupying the room, with the night time making way for a stunning view of the australian skyline. It’s very late, and not even a glimpse of the moon could be seen. Silas Artoria quietly walks into frame, not even making a sound, before sitting down and getting comfortable. He’s not smiling, but his certainly tells us that there is a hint of amusement within him.
SILAS ARTORIA: Just my luck, eh?
He glances the frame.
SILAS ARTORIA: I prayed to the gods that Mr Paradine would fall and they granted it for me. I must say, for something that had a 25% of happening, it came around like you had evens chances at a casino.
A light chuckle comes from him, as he adjusts himself in the chair.
SILAS ARTORIA: So, the ballad of Paradine comes to an end, and for me…?
He holds up a picture of KC3, posing and stretching like the god they think they are.
SILAS ARTORIA: My brush with an annoyance has come to an end.
Flames erupt from the picture, as the coloured ink turns to liquid sludge and the paper turns to a pale-grey ash. It crumbles through his fingertips as Silas smirks as the dust.
SILAS ARTORIA: I told you that you shouldn’t enrage things you have little understanding of, and KC3 paid that price. Goodbye KC3. I’m sure, like dust, that you’ll linger on me for some time before you’re finally completely washed away.
SILAS ARTORIA: Now, onto business! The finals of the Paramount Grand Prix, and I must say, I’m rather disappointed.
He leans forward.
SILAS ARTORIA: Before I posted my last address, I understood that the round robin table would be played out like a traditional round robin.
His finger points up as his smirk gave way to a more neutral look; something akin to a lecturer teaching.
SILAS ARTORIA: Simple, the team or person with the most amount of points emerges victorious.
SILAS ARTORIA: IF there is a tie, then other factors are put into play, and in the Crescendo tournament I took part in, the people who you defeat is arguably the most important statistic of them all.
He leans back.
SILAS ARTORIA: So, in this particular instance, Jimmy Allen and myself finished at four points apiece, but traditionally my victory over The Catalyst would’ve placed me in the final against Quintin Scarboro, who defeated Scourge quite handedly.
He throws his hands in the air, like he’s given up trying to understand how management works.
SILAS ARTORIA: But no. Management starts and stops at points, and half the people who entered the tournament are in the finals.
A deep sigh escapes him.
SILAS ARTORIAS: It’s the cards that we’ve been dealt. Shame.
He sits himself up.
SILAS ARTORIA: Still, I’ve overcame worse than a fatal-fourway. I’ve survived falls from a variety of heights, I’ve survived attacks from rowdy Australians, and a nasty break-up that shattered my ribs.
He smirks again, and points to his once injured eye; bloodshot but most certainly healed.
SILAS ARTORIA: As you can see, my visibility is nearly back at peak capacity, and that will most certainly be vital when three other people are trying to tear you apart!
SILAS ARTORIA: The last time I was in a four-way match, it ended with an unfavourable result, but the message about my endurance was heard loud and clear. Even if the three of you take me on--even if you break my legs and throw me to the ground.
SILAS ARTORIA: I...will...stand...back up.
He folds his arms and kicks his feet up. He’s wearing pink, fluffy slippers, contrasting sharply to the rest of the screen.
SILAS ARTORIA: My victory in this match would be a perfect culmination and representation of my time in the CWF. Knocked down, stand higher. Knocked down, stand even higher. Knocked down again, and now a coveted CWF championship is in fingertips away from me.
Another, near skin crawling smile escapes him.
SILAS ARTORIA: So...my final obstacles. Three men think they could take my title away from me, and all I have to do is topple each and every one of them, at the same time.
He holds up a picture of Jimmy Allen.
SILAS ARTORIA: First off, my first opponent. Firstly, thank you kindly for ensuring I’m in this position, your work is greatly appreciated. Secondly, I wished for us to meet again further down the line to finally settle our lingering one-on-one matches that keep ending with me winning via external interference. I’ll let you take me on for the Paramount Title come the next pay-per-view, but for now, you’re of little concern to me. Sadly, you’re probably the most hated athlete in the eyes of the audience. You did just eliminate their homeboy, after all.
A dark chuckle escapes as the next picture is held up; Scourge.
SILAS ARTORIA: Next, Scourge, the latest in the long line of “Big Men” to have come to the CWF to make a name for themselves, and the latest in the long line of “Big Men” to eventually have their credibility stripped from them when they fall flat on their face. Take it from me. I faced a man called “Revenant” once, and he, too, was a big man.
He leans forward.
SILAS ARTORIA: The difference between you and him is that, while your size is indeed an advantage, Revenant had the technical skills to undercut the same weaknesses you possess.
SILAS ARTORIA: In other words, he was larger than the Seattle Space Needle, and he knew a million ways to make you tap out.
He leans back into his chair.
SILAS ARTORIA: Enjoy your infamy, Scourge. I’m sure you’ll feel right at home with the shadows.
Finally, a picture of Quentin Scarboro.
SILAS ARTORIA: And finally, Mr Scarboro. In a way, I kind of admire you. You understand that respect has to be earned before you win over anyone in this business, and I love that you’re willing to work hard for it, without any form of fast track. You’ve defeated Scourge, which would be a huge accomplishment for someone like you, and you were one of the highlights of our brief brush in the glorified squash match.
Beat. A smirk returns as he puts down the pictures neatly. No need to burn them.
SILAS ARTORIA: But…
He starts unbuttoning his coat.
SILAS ARTORIA: You seemed to take some pride in the fact that you fractured my ribs further, and that is just unsporting conduct, don’t you think? After all, I don’t feel the bloodlust like I previously did. Also, as you can see…
He presents his chest to the world.
SILAS ARTORIA: ...broken ribs are no longer a problem. So how are you to defeat me when your key strategy is no longer a possibility?
No bandages, just a clear chest with no even a scratch or bruise in sight.
SILAS ARTORIA: My friend in my head may be sleeping, but they do work wonders on my body at times. It’s also something you shouldn’t call out lightly. Just ask KC3 on how his match against me went.
SILAS ARTORIA: In conclusion, your confidence is admirable, but there’s a reason why the two of us didn’t clash before Confliction. You weren’t ready, and since you were in the rookie bracket of the Grand Prix, something tells me upper management don’t see you as ready to take on such a challenge. They threw you a bone, so thank them for that.
He gets comfortable.
SILAS ARTORIA: In reality, the one thing I am worried about, in our upcoming match, is the special guest referee. This match is about the people who succeeded in the round robin phase and their upcoming clash against each other, and the last thing anyone wants is another pompous, self entitled cockroach trying to get precious television time.
SILAS ARTORIA: The CWF already has a pompous member on it’s payroll, and their name is Silas Artoria.
SILAS ARTORIA: The others may have the power, the determination, the confidence, but I’m the favourite to win this whole thing. So please…
He reaches for the lightswitch.
SILAS ARTORIA: ...make this match difficult for me, because where’s the fun in an breeze to victory.
SILAS ARTORIA: Good night!
Switch to black.
He sits alone in his hotel room, darkness clouded him. He’s leaning forward, looking intently at a television screen showing a wrestling match, specifically the Confliction tag-team title match he partook in.
Years of his career were taken from everyone as weapons, chairs, and tables factored into the Lost Boys’ victory. It was painful and risky, but there was an aspect of the match that Silas was focused on.
He paid close attention to the atmosphere and the crowd; how they reacted to him and his mere presence. He hated that he turned his back on people he considers countrymen, and was relieved that they accepted his final gesture.
Now, one year later, Confliction is now in Australia.
Silas takes a deep breath as the match gives way to the next.
SILAS ARTORIA: If only you all was here.
A single tear leaves him, as he finally turns the television off.