(Senester): You didn’t really think you could hide him away from me did you Mr. Wilkinson, or the rest of your family for that matter? I came to pay my respects to your brother on this week of the third anniversary of his death. I remember everything from the moment the light left his eyes to the moment the tears ran from yours as you buckled to your knees in the ring after receiving the news on live television. Rotting away in this casket, this symbol of eternity he still holds his value to me. I exhumed him once for your reunion, but it is his memory that is my most powerful tool.
Senester places a white rose down and gets to his feet.
(Senester): Thank you…I shall reward your services in heaven.
Minutes later Senester has returned to his limo and begins to leave the cemetery.
(Senester): The stage has been set Mr. Wilkinson. The players will take their places at the ppv and perform exactly as I have designed. This night will have been years in the making, and no one will get in my way as was the case at Havoc. Don’t look up the aisle for your NWO brethren to come to your aid, they will not be able to help you. The night’s events are certain to have them preoccupied with their own welfare. I cannot begin to tell you how perfectly designed I have made our upcoming moment in the ring together, but there will be that moment of unmitigated understanding when you enter the ring and look across at me. In that moment you will know that no one can help you anymore, not the cheering fans, not your friends, not your family.
Use this time wisely Mr. Wilkinson for your life changes with the very flow of blood, sweat and tears at the ppv. Go and visit your parents once more in their so-called “secret” location you thought you’ve successfully sent them to in seclusion. Your Detective Cox is an incompetent, glorified sleuth in comparison to my vast resources and intelligences. Make amends with your father, give your mother a kiss, hug your sister and have useless conversations with the notion that your dead brother is listening, watching over you, or sees your pathetic in-ring displays of homage.
Senester looks out the window at the passing city.
(Senester): If I were you I wouldn’t waste what time I had left toiling about in your putrid gym. You’ll find no new skills there to defeat me. No training methods there will increase your miniscule chances of victory. You can run laps around the globe and never be in the physical condition fitting enough to truly face me. I am God Mr. Wilkinson, a fact you’ve dismissed as delusions. Remember this as they may call this match a “Last Man Standing Match” as you will find no man standing in the ring in the end.
Throughout history Warriors imagine their demise in feats of epic battle, there is no greater glory for them than to go down fighting, for their rights, for a cause, for their beliefs. Is this the same for you? What are you fighting for Mr. Wilkinson? What rights, what beliefs, what cause? Tell me! Tell me so I know what it is that will make your blood, sweat and tears sweet when I taste them. Tell me so I know when I take the hope from your eyes and from the people who love you and cheer for you that I can savor it for all eternity. I’m going to take your soul and put it on display. It will be an artifact in a wrestling museum that will be looked upon, discussed, perhaps even studied. A relic of something that once was, a painful memory, but a constant reminder that when you go against me, we you deny me, when you bring your petty wars to my doorstep, when you dare speak the name of God on your lips in vain…nothing awaits you but the abyss of defeat. Prepare to have your name associated with those of Bridges, Dredge and Parker. Prepare Mr. Wilkinson…to say goodbye to man you are now and stare at the remnants I leave behind.
Senester smiles as he continues to ponder the upcoming match. A glass of fine cognac is in his hands and he takes a swig and the scene fades to black.
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