Buffalo's taking the loss pretty hard
Jan 26, 2021 21:25:32 GMT -6
Deana Barrows and Dylan Thomas like this
Post by zybala on Jan 26, 2021 21:25:32 GMT -6
: Grey. As far as the eye can see, it's grey. Think Sin City or the second Halloween Town. It's a bleak looking world. A few tinges of color stand out, but not much. Sadness and depression hang in the air. Buildings are closed and no one walks the streets. The only thing that occupies the pavement are folding tables, bare and unbroken. A few have a bright orange/red fire burning through the grey, but even those still remain unbroken. This is downtown Buffalo. Once vibrant with hope, life and table pieces, all joy and happiness have been stripped from the land. We are left with this husk of a joyless wasteland; what many call the GCWA arena after a Warstein match.
We see a few vagrants dressed in the tattered remains of Buffalo Bills clothes and other ratty looking clothing slink onto the street. They start looking at the tables, a few start sniffing them. A loud bang followed by the streets being lit up by bright lights. The wretches scatter as a pickup truck pulls next to the group of tables. The truck parks, the driver side door opens and a figure steps out onto the street. They are dressed in some sort of body armor and clothing, think Mad Max style. They have a wrap around their head, covering their face. They go about checking the tables, grunting in disappointment that every one of them are covered in spray painted depictions of "LETS GO BUFFALO" "AFC CHAMPS" and other such slogans. The figure folds up the tables and loads them in the back of the pickup. They're about to get back in the truck when something catches their eye.
They take off the head wrap and we see that it's Mike Zybala! As if you didn't know. He walks over to the remains of a bar and doesn't believe his eyes. Leaning against the once thriving is a pure white table without a hint of graffiti on it. Zybala quickly looks around before folding it up and putting it in the cab of the pickup. He gets in, starts the truck up and drives off. Zybala ignores all the "One Way" signs that litter Downtown Buffalo as he drives through the streets. After several blocks of driving, the truck comes to a stop as a large pile of broken tables block the street. Zybala grumbles as he starts to back up when a pair of headlights behind him causes him to stop. Angered, Zybala opens the door and is about to exit the truck when he hears a loud "HEY EH EH EHHH!" followed by an equally loud "LET'S GO BUFFALO!" Zybala cusses to himself. :
Zybala: Shit! Goddamned Breakers!
: Zybala reaches behind the seat of the pickup and grabs a baseball bat. As he does this, a swarm of people in somewhat nicer Bills gear and winter coats start to circle the pickup. Many of them have red, white and blue face paint on. A few are wielding beer funnels and table legs in a menacing fashion. The chanting grows quiet as a woman in a Josh Allen jersey steps forward. She grins cockily at Zybala then looks at the back of the truck. Zybala's grip around the baseball bat tightens as he tries to think of a way out of this. :
"Allen": Well, well, well. What do we got here? What's that I see poking up in the back?
Zybala: There isn't nothing for you. I found them first. By the laws of "Finders Keepers" they belong to me!
"Allen": Ah, but you found them in our territory. That makes you a thief.
Zybala: Downtown is open territory! It belongs to everyone! That's what was agreed upon when the city went tits up after the game Sunday! Who would have believed we would have apocalypse ourselves over a playoff loss….
"Allen": It was a heartbreaker. Just like you losing those tables.
Zybala: But the laws!
"Allen": If Downtown belongs to everyone, that technically makes it Breaker territory. And that makes YOU a thief! Besides, what do you need all those tables for? You're only one guy. You can't break them all by yourself.
Zybala: That's not for you to decide! I need these to answer a challenge! Some prick named Warstein challenged me to a "Buffalo Tables Match" and I intend on making him regret it by putting him through every single table I got here
: "Allen" squints her eyes and stares at Zybala. A moment or two passes before her eyes widen with recognition. :
"Allen": I thought I knew you. You're that wrestler, Zybala, ain't you?
Zybala: Guilty as charged.
"Allen": You don't need all those tables for your match. You only need one. Consider yourself lucky that I'm considering letting you have that. Every table needs to be broken! How else can we get rid of our grief of not going to the Super Bowl?!
Zybala: Then live through me! I promise to put Warstein through every table! It will be like an epic tailgate party! A Buffalonian winning a championship, and a bunch of tables getting broken! I make this oath to the Breakers, and all the other tribes! I will do our city proud by finally winning the North American title!!!
: "Allen" looks like she is actually starting to consider this. The other Breakers murmur as "Allen" contemplates Zybala plea. The overall silence is broken when a cry of anger can be heard. Everyone turns towards the noise, which is near the passenger side window of the pickup. A Breaker is standing there with rage on his face. :
Breaker: He is hiding a clean table!!
: Fury gains a physical form as the other Breakers start yelling in anger! "Allen" glares at Zybala with hate in her eyes. :
"Allen": What is this blasphemy?!? Where is your Buffalo pride?! Why is the table unmarked??
Zybala: Because I haven't a chance to paint it. I found it clean. I was going to make a special message for Warstein when I got some paint.
"Allen": LIES!! You have lost whatever good graces you had with us. We're taking all of the tables and we're using YOU to break them. I wonder which break first, your body or the last table? Get him!
: Zybala raises his baseball bat to defend himself as The Breakers start to slowly close in. They may outnumber Zybala, but none are that eager to get hit by a bat. As "Allen" creeps closer, something flies past her head, stopping her in her tracks. Everyone turns towards the direction of where the object came from and sees another group of people. These are dressed in black and yellow winter wear, with a emblem of a Cobra on the left side over their hearts. The one in the front speaks up. :
Cobra: That one belongs to the Sensai! You better step off before you regret it. I promise that the next nunchaku won't miss…
"Allen": He is ours by right!! He stole from us!
Cobra: You have no rights in this dojo!
"Allen": This isn't a dojo!
: That did it. The lead Cobra motions for his gang to attack! They charge forward with a yell and The Breakers return in kind. Zybala is looking at both groups charging, calling for his blood as the scene fades to black… :
We see a few vagrants dressed in the tattered remains of Buffalo Bills clothes and other ratty looking clothing slink onto the street. They start looking at the tables, a few start sniffing them. A loud bang followed by the streets being lit up by bright lights. The wretches scatter as a pickup truck pulls next to the group of tables. The truck parks, the driver side door opens and a figure steps out onto the street. They are dressed in some sort of body armor and clothing, think Mad Max style. They have a wrap around their head, covering their face. They go about checking the tables, grunting in disappointment that every one of them are covered in spray painted depictions of "LETS GO BUFFALO" "AFC CHAMPS" and other such slogans. The figure folds up the tables and loads them in the back of the pickup. They're about to get back in the truck when something catches their eye.
They take off the head wrap and we see that it's Mike Zybala! As if you didn't know. He walks over to the remains of a bar and doesn't believe his eyes. Leaning against the once thriving is a pure white table without a hint of graffiti on it. Zybala quickly looks around before folding it up and putting it in the cab of the pickup. He gets in, starts the truck up and drives off. Zybala ignores all the "One Way" signs that litter Downtown Buffalo as he drives through the streets. After several blocks of driving, the truck comes to a stop as a large pile of broken tables block the street. Zybala grumbles as he starts to back up when a pair of headlights behind him causes him to stop. Angered, Zybala opens the door and is about to exit the truck when he hears a loud "HEY EH EH EHHH!" followed by an equally loud "LET'S GO BUFFALO!" Zybala cusses to himself. :
Zybala: Shit! Goddamned Breakers!
: Zybala reaches behind the seat of the pickup and grabs a baseball bat. As he does this, a swarm of people in somewhat nicer Bills gear and winter coats start to circle the pickup. Many of them have red, white and blue face paint on. A few are wielding beer funnels and table legs in a menacing fashion. The chanting grows quiet as a woman in a Josh Allen jersey steps forward. She grins cockily at Zybala then looks at the back of the truck. Zybala's grip around the baseball bat tightens as he tries to think of a way out of this. :
"Allen": Well, well, well. What do we got here? What's that I see poking up in the back?
Zybala: There isn't nothing for you. I found them first. By the laws of "Finders Keepers" they belong to me!
"Allen": Ah, but you found them in our territory. That makes you a thief.
Zybala: Downtown is open territory! It belongs to everyone! That's what was agreed upon when the city went tits up after the game Sunday! Who would have believed we would have apocalypse ourselves over a playoff loss….
"Allen": It was a heartbreaker. Just like you losing those tables.
Zybala: But the laws!
"Allen": If Downtown belongs to everyone, that technically makes it Breaker territory. And that makes YOU a thief! Besides, what do you need all those tables for? You're only one guy. You can't break them all by yourself.
Zybala: That's not for you to decide! I need these to answer a challenge! Some prick named Warstein challenged me to a "Buffalo Tables Match" and I intend on making him regret it by putting him through every single table I got here
: "Allen" squints her eyes and stares at Zybala. A moment or two passes before her eyes widen with recognition. :
"Allen": I thought I knew you. You're that wrestler, Zybala, ain't you?
Zybala: Guilty as charged.
"Allen": You don't need all those tables for your match. You only need one. Consider yourself lucky that I'm considering letting you have that. Every table needs to be broken! How else can we get rid of our grief of not going to the Super Bowl?!
Zybala: Then live through me! I promise to put Warstein through every table! It will be like an epic tailgate party! A Buffalonian winning a championship, and a bunch of tables getting broken! I make this oath to the Breakers, and all the other tribes! I will do our city proud by finally winning the North American title!!!
: "Allen" looks like she is actually starting to consider this. The other Breakers murmur as "Allen" contemplates Zybala plea. The overall silence is broken when a cry of anger can be heard. Everyone turns towards the noise, which is near the passenger side window of the pickup. A Breaker is standing there with rage on his face. :
Breaker: He is hiding a clean table!!
: Fury gains a physical form as the other Breakers start yelling in anger! "Allen" glares at Zybala with hate in her eyes. :
"Allen": What is this blasphemy?!? Where is your Buffalo pride?! Why is the table unmarked??
Zybala: Because I haven't a chance to paint it. I found it clean. I was going to make a special message for Warstein when I got some paint.
"Allen": LIES!! You have lost whatever good graces you had with us. We're taking all of the tables and we're using YOU to break them. I wonder which break first, your body or the last table? Get him!
: Zybala raises his baseball bat to defend himself as The Breakers start to slowly close in. They may outnumber Zybala, but none are that eager to get hit by a bat. As "Allen" creeps closer, something flies past her head, stopping her in her tracks. Everyone turns towards the direction of where the object came from and sees another group of people. These are dressed in black and yellow winter wear, with a emblem of a Cobra on the left side over their hearts. The one in the front speaks up. :
Cobra: That one belongs to the Sensai! You better step off before you regret it. I promise that the next nunchaku won't miss…
"Allen": He is ours by right!! He stole from us!
Cobra: You have no rights in this dojo!
"Allen": This isn't a dojo!
: That did it. The lead Cobra motions for his gang to attack! They charge forward with a yell and The Breakers return in kind. Zybala is looking at both groups charging, calling for his blood as the scene fades to black… :
Oh Shawn. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It seems that you and I have a misunderstanding. You seem to think that I actually give a shit about either you or The Legacy. You are sadly mistaken. I don't really care about you guys. All of our encounters have been…. circumstantial. Coming out with Ace during Raven's World Title Coronation? That was just me announcing my entering the Righteous Rumble in hopes of getting a World Title shot. Me assisting in the brawl against you guys at said Rumble? You pissed me off when you eliminated me. My temper was flaring and you were the cause. My continued challenges against you? That's plain and simple. You have something I want.
When I first came to GCWA, there was a open challenge the North American belt and I went for it. I got put through a search light lamp for my troubles as someone else climbed up the ladder and grabbed the prize. Ever since, I've been distracted. Winning the X-Division and Tag Titles, running Outsiders, opening Red Robin next door to the arena, putting on many high caliber matches. Basically making money hand over fist for the company.
Which is one of the reasons why Deana gave me a title shot of my choice. That and me laying down for Warthog as a favor to the brass. Because she knew it would make money. So I get a title shot of my choice and I picked the N.A strap. Not because of who was holding it, but because of it being my White Whale in this company. You are merely the place holder for the title. I was going to pick the North American belt no matter who was holding it. You weren't special. You weren't on my radar. Any of those names you mentioned that you beat would have been just as acceptable to square off against. You were just….there.
I don't care how often or how little that you defended the title because that doesn't matter. You can spout off name after name. None of them are Mike Zybala. I'm not like the others that you've faced before. You know that first hand. You felt it the last time were fought. You know that I have what it takes to beat you. You felt what it was like to be pinned by me. It doesn't matter that it wasn't an official ref or that you had to have Deana restart the match to beat me. You cannot deny the fact that I had you dead to right, back to the mat, and pinned you for a full three count. That's something that none of those names you listed did. I pinned you, and that makes you a little nervous, despite the bravado you're showing.
You can say that I'm not a legend. That no one cares about me. You can ramble on and on about how you played me like a GameBoy and that lead to this match. In my Seventeen years in this business, I have had every form of shit talking said to me. If I had a dollar for every time some mediocre, half decent jackass said that I was a no talent hack who will never do anything in this business, I'd have enough money to build a giant fucking Zord and anything else I want and….. Oh wait… That already happened! Toss that fact on to all the titles I've won throughout my career and I'd say I'm pretty damn legendary in my own rights. You needed to join with five other people to become The Legacy. All I needed was myself to become A legacy.
Speaking about your happy gaggle of jackasses, you were right about one thing. Just one. I'm not a threat to The Legacy because I don't care about your team. All I care about is that shiny title over your shoulder. The only reason I would give a shit about them is if they interfere with our match. That would give you a slight advantage, but since you made the horrible choice of making this a Buffalo Tables match, I'll have more than enough equalizers to put them through. How dumb are you? Challenging me to a Tables match was bad enough, but tossing in the name Buffalo sealed your fate. When was the last time you saw me lose a match with no rules? I'll save you the website search. It's been a long fucking time. You called me a thorn in your side, but you agreeing to face me in a tables match was more like a nail in a coffin for you.
So you better pray that Betsy and Jackson win their matches at Adrenaline Rush, because that's the only way The Legacy is walking away with gold on Sunday. Because I plan on driving you through every table that my eyes can see. I let the North American belt slip through my hands before. I'm not letting it happen again. I have no clue why you hate Sunday's so much, but I do know I'll give you one more reason to compound that hate. I'm gonna hurt you. I'm gonna make you bleed. I'm gonna break tables with your body, and I'm walking away as the next North American champion on Sunday, Bloody Sunday!!