Post by ____ on Jul 26, 2010 14:54:46 GMT -5
As most know, Jack and I are partaking as individuals, in the Experts Tournament. I managed to get the tougher end of the draw so have spent the better part of the week writing this. The tournament requires each person to spend twenty four hours inside of the Siberian prison (where the tournament is held) and so I focused my RP on that.
I'm hoping for each of you to give your bluntest opinions on it as I consider it one of my better pieces which is rare, but want to know what others think.
Thanks,
James
---
Inside of the Siberian Facility, ninety-seven identical rooms lay in wait. Eight feet long by six feet wide and not even Dickens or Twain could make the white walls interesting. Set amongst the oil fields of Siberia, some of God’s most heinous creations had been locked away here, taken as far away from civilization as possible. Yet now the facility built initially to hold hardened criminals would instead play host to wrestlers fighting in the Extreme Tournament 2010: Siberia. Ninety-seven men, willingly offering up their freedom and potentially their sanity, all for a chance to win the greatest prize in the industry, the True Expert Championship.
For a number of the wrestlers the Experts Tournament was about cementing their legacy. Having spent the better portion of their career wrestling for thousands of people in the most famous arenas, the final step for them on the career ladder, going from household name to legend would be reached by taking home the title. For others though the Experts Tournament presented a different opportunity, their years of hard work wrestling in hotel ballrooms and community centers finally paying off. Unknown by all but the hardcore wrestling fan, the potential to be recognized by the world over as one of the finest was alluring.
Chris - “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. The blood I’ve shed for the business, the hours of work, it’s a chance to finally make a name for myself.”
Seated below Chris Hart were various members of the media, a menagerie of fields gathered here in one of the most dank places on earth, all for the largest wrestling event ever presented. Wiping his hands on his jumpsuit underneath the table, Chris looked out at them and tried his best to smile. Having arrived less than an hour before at the Siberian Facility, the jetlag of the trans-pacific flight was starting to weigh heavily on him. Turning to the right, Hart saw the Warden give him a nod as he pushed his chair away from the table and rose to his feet. Turning to his right, the handcuffs and shackles rattled as he walked slowly off the stage, a strong pair of hands grabbing him as he reached the bottom steps and keeping it locked on, escorting him to his cell. Walking opposite the media, he looked backed at Larry Smith standing on the podium, introducing the next interviewer to those gathered. It would be his last glimpse of the outside world until his incarceration was over.
Nikolai - “What you think of Siberia?”
They had been introduced only minutes ago, yet as Chris looked at Nikolai there was something about him. Hiding under the rough exterior was a man who took great pride in housing the wrestlers, an underlying desire to truly experience was it was like to be a wrestler.
Chris - “Cold.”
A simple one word answer but how else to describe the hell hole without drawing the ire of the man who controlled his fate. Marching down the hallway, they passed underneath a sign with Wing A written on it in silence. Counting off the cells silently, Chris continued until Nikolai stopped in front of what was to be his cell.
Nikolai - “Where have you wrestle before?”
Chris - “Canada, The United States, Mexico, Japan. Likely everywhere but here in Siberia.”
Nikolai smiled showing the yellow tobacco stained teeth. Nodding his head he swung open the door and ushered Chris in as he got his first look at his new home. Three plain white walls who’s sole purpose was to drive their captive to insanity. Stepping inside the cell, Nikolai retrieved the key from his belt as Chris extended his hands. Unlocking first the handcuffs, Nikolai turned his attention to the shackles, clipping Chris free of them. Turning around Chris looked at Nikolai as he walked out of the room, the restraining devices in hand. As Nikolai dropped them next to the outside of the cell, Chris nodded his head, waiting for him to shut the door.
Nikolai - “Good luck comrade, you need it.”
With that the door swung closed, Chris watching the last glimpse of humanity slip away, confined to the cell by himself for the next twenty four hours. Taking a seat on the rock hard mattress, Chris looks up at the ceiling and emit’s a heavy sigh, the words of Nikolai echoing in his mind.
Chris - “Luck. Luck isn’t going to help me in this God forsaken corner of the world. I’ve come to Siberia to participate in a modern vaudeville, luck will have nothing to do with it. We come from across the world, some of us having won and lost fortunes in the blink of an eye, others looking only to the future and the acclaim they will receive if they emerge victorious. Luck is nothing but a fallacy, the same as happenstance, a crutch for those who fall, a scapegoat for their failure.”
Lowering his head from the ceiling, he looks across at the latrine and wash basin an arms length away. Previously the cell had seemed small but now with every passing second it seemed as if the white walls were closing in, shrinking the room. Turning away, Chris leans back against the wall before lying down and starting once again at the ceiling.
Chris - “Why did I come here though? Why did I leave the warmth of Southern Tennessee to come to the bitter cold of Russia’s north? Illusions of grandeur? The thought of finally entering the limelight? The opportunity for success and recognition is there but is it worth it? These white washed walls, closing in slowly. The glare of the guards and the other wrestlers who crave the same as you and see you as nothing more than an obstacle, not a human being with a soul. The cold, penetrating the flesh and chilling ones very core. All of these for what, a championship?”
Chris pauses for a moment but his gaze remained unmoved. He blinks rapidly though as the ceiling appears to be closing in on him, formerly nine feet tall, now hovering just above the top of the door way.
Chris - “No, not just a championship, the championship. The chance to be called The True Expert, recognized by everyone as the best. It’d be a shock for the world as Chris Hart, a virtual unknown, beats a who’s who of wrestling elite. Round after round another wrestler falls at his hand and with each one that does, slowly his legend grows. It’s happened before and it could, no, will happen again. People will call it a Cinderella story, someone coming out of the wrestling abyss, from bingo halls to the main stream, but it isn’t. I’m every bit as good as Level One and Black Death. M.D.K and RJ Palmer have as much reason to fear me as they do the other. If anything the fact that I’m an unknown makes me all the more dangerous. They enter the prison assuming they have the match in hand as they take on some rube from the minor leagues and leave with their head in their hands, having learnt one of life’s greatest lessons.
No one expects me to walk out of Siberia with the True Experts Championship around my waist and in many ways that gives the advantage to me. Even at the end, in the final match having cleaned out the so called ‘Wing of Death’ I’m still going to be considered a long shot. Surely, they will say, that his luck is due to run out, but again, there is no such thing as luck, only talent, only the desire to succeed.”
With the ceiling continuing it’s descent closer to him, Chris reached his hand out, trying to tangibly measure the distance away from him. From where he was it appeared the ceiling was within one inch of his grasp, yet even as he extended his arm forward, that inch remained. Sitting up from his supine position he turns to his right and looks again at the wash basin. Previously an arms length away, it, along with the wall it was situated upon now appear to be hovering right next to the bed.
Chris - “It is not enviable for M.D.K and RJ Palmer to draw the task of facing yours truly in the opening match. They, unlike those who will proceed them, enter this match with only a name for me. They do not know what I’m capable of inside of the ring, grainy footage only adding to the mystery of Chris Hart. Though their achievements respectively are many, they simply represent their accomplishments amongst a certain population. They do not place them anywhere on the hierarchy of professional wrestling, bear no weight in determining who is the better wrestler, the only way to determine that is to place them inside the square circle.
Not only that but those achievements will handicap them inside of the ring. Some may be intimidated by them, view them as some form of God for the magnitude of their successes, but not I. When push comes to shove, when every muscle has long surpassed fatigue, when their lungs can no longer provide the oxygen need of the body, their brain will tell them to submit. They will see that one loss does not outweigh previous titles, the first rational thought will be that this match is not worth risking the plush future they have. They have nothing to fight for other than glory, a goal that can easily be obtained elsewhere.
Not I though. This is my sole chance at glory, to prove that I belong in the upper echelon, the pantheon of wrestling greats. When I reach that point, my thoughts turn to what I have done before and how meaningless it all is. I see the opportunity this tournament presents and know that in order to reap the splendour of the title True Experts Champion, I must be willing to risk everything. For me, unlike M.D.K and RJ Palmer, I don’t have a fall back plan, I have no other way to gain the notoriety I desire. For me, for Chris Hart, this tournament is the be all end all. These four walls to some a prison, are to me the gates of heaven. The cells peculiar institution a necessary penance to enter paradise.”
Chris halts his speech and rises to his feet, stretching out his limbs. Though he’s been in the cell for less than fifteen minutes, the claustrophobic atmosphere has already lead to a growing tension in his muscles. Pacing the width of the room, he lets out a careful sigh before continuing on.
Chris - “Not only does the cell serve as a purgatory but so do the prisoners. M.D.K being the current TFWF Tag Champion and former SCW World Champion is in many ways deserving of some measure of reverence, a respect for his accomplishments in this business. His methodology however, his attitude and relative disdain for those around him however, are not. He may see it as intimidating, the character assassination planting seeds of doubt in the mind of his opponent. Clever? Yes. Practical? No.
These white walls break down ones mind far greater than any words spoken by man. The fifty square feet reducing the wrestlers to their primal instincts where words mean nothing, and action is the name of the game. Here in Siberia, the allegiances we’ve forged outside of facility die a quick death, survival, more than allegiance to a cause serving as a guiding purpose. Though Ryan Ruckus and Legion will also call these walls home they can not help M.D.K in his match. He is alone, just like everyone else here, his only comfort his fading sanity.
How he adapts to the harsh Siberian weather and how he trains for this match is out of my control, and thus my concern. He can spend his twenty four hours in his prison cell shadow boxing, drilling takedowns and performing callisthenics but that will not impact me. He can simply sit here in deep meditation, in contemplative reflection but that will do him no good. He can replay every second of distorted footage he has seen of me in his mind but none of his preparations will prepare him for his encounter with Chris Hart.”
Stopping his pacing, Chris looks around the room and begins to blink rapidly, trying to adjust as all four walls appear to be closing in on him even more. The sink, previously along the bed appears to be on it. The door, about a foot away from the bed before, has taken away that much from it. The former eight by six now appears to be a two by two, with the only available floor space the two tiles he is presently standing on. This doesn’t appear to faze Chris though as he continues on.
Chris - “At the end of the day, M.D.K presents a formidable opponent, one with all the talent in the world and as good a chance as any to be the True Expert Champion. In the same breath, he presents the perfect opponent, one with name value the world over, a man who adds legitimacy to any victory, in this tournament, who can remove any chance of people stating that I won the True Experts Championship by defeating sub standard opposition.
He, along with RJ Palmer provide the name value in this match. Give the audience world over a reason to be interested. A former XWF World Champion, and ironically enough, a former Hart champion as well. It’s only fitting that a man who has won a title that bears my surname, would also serve as the first step on my path to being the True Expert. This prison for him, serves as an opportunity to escape the demons that haunt him in the outside world. It gives him the ability to finally prove once and for all that he is simply not a product of the XWF hype machine.
As he stares me down, the confidence in his eyes serves only to reinforce the notion that I come into this match as the underdog and that he views me as beneath him. His usual level of arrogance reserved for M.D.K where as I am faced by an aloof Aussie who quite frankly deserves to be knocked down a level. He’d be best served realizing that this is not the XWF and that there is a reason he is competing in ‘The Experts’ tournament, before he steps into the ring or he will fall short.
Time and time again, the wrestling world has seen men like R.J Palmer where the stars having seemingly aligned at the time of their conception. God having blessed them with everything needed too succeed; the look, the charisma and the ability that can’t be taught, but with all that they still come up short. For all R.J. Palmer’s skills, his innovation inside of the ring, his pit bull mentality, his inability to separate himself from his ego for a single second will be his undoing.”
Chris stops and finds himself now standing in the sink, on top of the bed, the walls having finally pressed in on him to the point where he can barely move. His face and actions show signs of panic, immediately trying to push the walls back to no avail. Stopping, he halts his breathing entirely and closes his eyes, trying to collect himself and gather his emotions. When his eyes open, the sea blue from before is instead replaced by a steely grey, the nervous scowl instead replaced by a sickening smile.
Chris - “The Experts Tournament 2010: Siberia is my destiny. For me, if I fail there is no recourse, no second chances. I’ve fought long and hard to get a chance to succeed and I refuse to let it slip out of my grasp. As the wrestling world has bound me and these walls close in on me, my only escape is … victory!”
With the last utterance he drops down to a seated position and bows his head in mental preparation for his match. The sounds outside of the cell, the cries of other prisoners fall on deaf ears as he slowly slips to a trance in order to endure the next twenty three hours of his stay.
I'm hoping for each of you to give your bluntest opinions on it as I consider it one of my better pieces which is rare, but want to know what others think.
Thanks,
James
---
Inside of the Siberian Facility, ninety-seven identical rooms lay in wait. Eight feet long by six feet wide and not even Dickens or Twain could make the white walls interesting. Set amongst the oil fields of Siberia, some of God’s most heinous creations had been locked away here, taken as far away from civilization as possible. Yet now the facility built initially to hold hardened criminals would instead play host to wrestlers fighting in the Extreme Tournament 2010: Siberia. Ninety-seven men, willingly offering up their freedom and potentially their sanity, all for a chance to win the greatest prize in the industry, the True Expert Championship.
For a number of the wrestlers the Experts Tournament was about cementing their legacy. Having spent the better portion of their career wrestling for thousands of people in the most famous arenas, the final step for them on the career ladder, going from household name to legend would be reached by taking home the title. For others though the Experts Tournament presented a different opportunity, their years of hard work wrestling in hotel ballrooms and community centers finally paying off. Unknown by all but the hardcore wrestling fan, the potential to be recognized by the world over as one of the finest was alluring.
Chris - “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. The blood I’ve shed for the business, the hours of work, it’s a chance to finally make a name for myself.”
Seated below Chris Hart were various members of the media, a menagerie of fields gathered here in one of the most dank places on earth, all for the largest wrestling event ever presented. Wiping his hands on his jumpsuit underneath the table, Chris looked out at them and tried his best to smile. Having arrived less than an hour before at the Siberian Facility, the jetlag of the trans-pacific flight was starting to weigh heavily on him. Turning to the right, Hart saw the Warden give him a nod as he pushed his chair away from the table and rose to his feet. Turning to his right, the handcuffs and shackles rattled as he walked slowly off the stage, a strong pair of hands grabbing him as he reached the bottom steps and keeping it locked on, escorting him to his cell. Walking opposite the media, he looked backed at Larry Smith standing on the podium, introducing the next interviewer to those gathered. It would be his last glimpse of the outside world until his incarceration was over.
Nikolai - “What you think of Siberia?”
They had been introduced only minutes ago, yet as Chris looked at Nikolai there was something about him. Hiding under the rough exterior was a man who took great pride in housing the wrestlers, an underlying desire to truly experience was it was like to be a wrestler.
Chris - “Cold.”
A simple one word answer but how else to describe the hell hole without drawing the ire of the man who controlled his fate. Marching down the hallway, they passed underneath a sign with Wing A written on it in silence. Counting off the cells silently, Chris continued until Nikolai stopped in front of what was to be his cell.
Nikolai - “Where have you wrestle before?”
Chris - “Canada, The United States, Mexico, Japan. Likely everywhere but here in Siberia.”
Nikolai smiled showing the yellow tobacco stained teeth. Nodding his head he swung open the door and ushered Chris in as he got his first look at his new home. Three plain white walls who’s sole purpose was to drive their captive to insanity. Stepping inside the cell, Nikolai retrieved the key from his belt as Chris extended his hands. Unlocking first the handcuffs, Nikolai turned his attention to the shackles, clipping Chris free of them. Turning around Chris looked at Nikolai as he walked out of the room, the restraining devices in hand. As Nikolai dropped them next to the outside of the cell, Chris nodded his head, waiting for him to shut the door.
Nikolai - “Good luck comrade, you need it.”
With that the door swung closed, Chris watching the last glimpse of humanity slip away, confined to the cell by himself for the next twenty four hours. Taking a seat on the rock hard mattress, Chris looks up at the ceiling and emit’s a heavy sigh, the words of Nikolai echoing in his mind.
Chris - “Luck. Luck isn’t going to help me in this God forsaken corner of the world. I’ve come to Siberia to participate in a modern vaudeville, luck will have nothing to do with it. We come from across the world, some of us having won and lost fortunes in the blink of an eye, others looking only to the future and the acclaim they will receive if they emerge victorious. Luck is nothing but a fallacy, the same as happenstance, a crutch for those who fall, a scapegoat for their failure.”
Lowering his head from the ceiling, he looks across at the latrine and wash basin an arms length away. Previously the cell had seemed small but now with every passing second it seemed as if the white walls were closing in, shrinking the room. Turning away, Chris leans back against the wall before lying down and starting once again at the ceiling.
Chris - “Why did I come here though? Why did I leave the warmth of Southern Tennessee to come to the bitter cold of Russia’s north? Illusions of grandeur? The thought of finally entering the limelight? The opportunity for success and recognition is there but is it worth it? These white washed walls, closing in slowly. The glare of the guards and the other wrestlers who crave the same as you and see you as nothing more than an obstacle, not a human being with a soul. The cold, penetrating the flesh and chilling ones very core. All of these for what, a championship?”
Chris pauses for a moment but his gaze remained unmoved. He blinks rapidly though as the ceiling appears to be closing in on him, formerly nine feet tall, now hovering just above the top of the door way.
Chris - “No, not just a championship, the championship. The chance to be called The True Expert, recognized by everyone as the best. It’d be a shock for the world as Chris Hart, a virtual unknown, beats a who’s who of wrestling elite. Round after round another wrestler falls at his hand and with each one that does, slowly his legend grows. It’s happened before and it could, no, will happen again. People will call it a Cinderella story, someone coming out of the wrestling abyss, from bingo halls to the main stream, but it isn’t. I’m every bit as good as Level One and Black Death. M.D.K and RJ Palmer have as much reason to fear me as they do the other. If anything the fact that I’m an unknown makes me all the more dangerous. They enter the prison assuming they have the match in hand as they take on some rube from the minor leagues and leave with their head in their hands, having learnt one of life’s greatest lessons.
No one expects me to walk out of Siberia with the True Experts Championship around my waist and in many ways that gives the advantage to me. Even at the end, in the final match having cleaned out the so called ‘Wing of Death’ I’m still going to be considered a long shot. Surely, they will say, that his luck is due to run out, but again, there is no such thing as luck, only talent, only the desire to succeed.”
With the ceiling continuing it’s descent closer to him, Chris reached his hand out, trying to tangibly measure the distance away from him. From where he was it appeared the ceiling was within one inch of his grasp, yet even as he extended his arm forward, that inch remained. Sitting up from his supine position he turns to his right and looks again at the wash basin. Previously an arms length away, it, along with the wall it was situated upon now appear to be hovering right next to the bed.
Chris - “It is not enviable for M.D.K and RJ Palmer to draw the task of facing yours truly in the opening match. They, unlike those who will proceed them, enter this match with only a name for me. They do not know what I’m capable of inside of the ring, grainy footage only adding to the mystery of Chris Hart. Though their achievements respectively are many, they simply represent their accomplishments amongst a certain population. They do not place them anywhere on the hierarchy of professional wrestling, bear no weight in determining who is the better wrestler, the only way to determine that is to place them inside the square circle.
Not only that but those achievements will handicap them inside of the ring. Some may be intimidated by them, view them as some form of God for the magnitude of their successes, but not I. When push comes to shove, when every muscle has long surpassed fatigue, when their lungs can no longer provide the oxygen need of the body, their brain will tell them to submit. They will see that one loss does not outweigh previous titles, the first rational thought will be that this match is not worth risking the plush future they have. They have nothing to fight for other than glory, a goal that can easily be obtained elsewhere.
Not I though. This is my sole chance at glory, to prove that I belong in the upper echelon, the pantheon of wrestling greats. When I reach that point, my thoughts turn to what I have done before and how meaningless it all is. I see the opportunity this tournament presents and know that in order to reap the splendour of the title True Experts Champion, I must be willing to risk everything. For me, unlike M.D.K and RJ Palmer, I don’t have a fall back plan, I have no other way to gain the notoriety I desire. For me, for Chris Hart, this tournament is the be all end all. These four walls to some a prison, are to me the gates of heaven. The cells peculiar institution a necessary penance to enter paradise.”
Chris halts his speech and rises to his feet, stretching out his limbs. Though he’s been in the cell for less than fifteen minutes, the claustrophobic atmosphere has already lead to a growing tension in his muscles. Pacing the width of the room, he lets out a careful sigh before continuing on.
Chris - “Not only does the cell serve as a purgatory but so do the prisoners. M.D.K being the current TFWF Tag Champion and former SCW World Champion is in many ways deserving of some measure of reverence, a respect for his accomplishments in this business. His methodology however, his attitude and relative disdain for those around him however, are not. He may see it as intimidating, the character assassination planting seeds of doubt in the mind of his opponent. Clever? Yes. Practical? No.
These white walls break down ones mind far greater than any words spoken by man. The fifty square feet reducing the wrestlers to their primal instincts where words mean nothing, and action is the name of the game. Here in Siberia, the allegiances we’ve forged outside of facility die a quick death, survival, more than allegiance to a cause serving as a guiding purpose. Though Ryan Ruckus and Legion will also call these walls home they can not help M.D.K in his match. He is alone, just like everyone else here, his only comfort his fading sanity.
How he adapts to the harsh Siberian weather and how he trains for this match is out of my control, and thus my concern. He can spend his twenty four hours in his prison cell shadow boxing, drilling takedowns and performing callisthenics but that will not impact me. He can simply sit here in deep meditation, in contemplative reflection but that will do him no good. He can replay every second of distorted footage he has seen of me in his mind but none of his preparations will prepare him for his encounter with Chris Hart.”
Stopping his pacing, Chris looks around the room and begins to blink rapidly, trying to adjust as all four walls appear to be closing in on him even more. The sink, previously along the bed appears to be on it. The door, about a foot away from the bed before, has taken away that much from it. The former eight by six now appears to be a two by two, with the only available floor space the two tiles he is presently standing on. This doesn’t appear to faze Chris though as he continues on.
Chris - “At the end of the day, M.D.K presents a formidable opponent, one with all the talent in the world and as good a chance as any to be the True Expert Champion. In the same breath, he presents the perfect opponent, one with name value the world over, a man who adds legitimacy to any victory, in this tournament, who can remove any chance of people stating that I won the True Experts Championship by defeating sub standard opposition.
He, along with RJ Palmer provide the name value in this match. Give the audience world over a reason to be interested. A former XWF World Champion, and ironically enough, a former Hart champion as well. It’s only fitting that a man who has won a title that bears my surname, would also serve as the first step on my path to being the True Expert. This prison for him, serves as an opportunity to escape the demons that haunt him in the outside world. It gives him the ability to finally prove once and for all that he is simply not a product of the XWF hype machine.
As he stares me down, the confidence in his eyes serves only to reinforce the notion that I come into this match as the underdog and that he views me as beneath him. His usual level of arrogance reserved for M.D.K where as I am faced by an aloof Aussie who quite frankly deserves to be knocked down a level. He’d be best served realizing that this is not the XWF and that there is a reason he is competing in ‘The Experts’ tournament, before he steps into the ring or he will fall short.
Time and time again, the wrestling world has seen men like R.J Palmer where the stars having seemingly aligned at the time of their conception. God having blessed them with everything needed too succeed; the look, the charisma and the ability that can’t be taught, but with all that they still come up short. For all R.J. Palmer’s skills, his innovation inside of the ring, his pit bull mentality, his inability to separate himself from his ego for a single second will be his undoing.”
Chris stops and finds himself now standing in the sink, on top of the bed, the walls having finally pressed in on him to the point where he can barely move. His face and actions show signs of panic, immediately trying to push the walls back to no avail. Stopping, he halts his breathing entirely and closes his eyes, trying to collect himself and gather his emotions. When his eyes open, the sea blue from before is instead replaced by a steely grey, the nervous scowl instead replaced by a sickening smile.
Chris - “The Experts Tournament 2010: Siberia is my destiny. For me, if I fail there is no recourse, no second chances. I’ve fought long and hard to get a chance to succeed and I refuse to let it slip out of my grasp. As the wrestling world has bound me and these walls close in on me, my only escape is … victory!”
With the last utterance he drops down to a seated position and bows his head in mental preparation for his match. The sounds outside of the cell, the cries of other prisoners fall on deaf ears as he slowly slips to a trance in order to endure the next twenty three hours of his stay.
