+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
The world of professional wrestling is nothing but a world full of demands. Demands on the time of the talent. Show up. Fly home. Go here. Appear there. House show. Live show. Sign this.
Austin pantomimed signing his autograph in the air, and throwing the signature with a flick of the wrist.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
Demands on the bodys of the talent. The camera adds ten pounds. You could be more lean. The fans appreciate a different body type. Train harder. Demands on the mental stability of the talent. Leave behind your friends and family. Weeks upon weeks without rest. Your support system can’t come along for the drive. Everything is demands. Inside the ring the fans demand perfection. You have to push the craft but not so far that you expose the magic. Not so far that you get outside your comfort zone or worse yet outside the comfort zone of everyone watching from ringside. You have to drive yourself to hit bigger moves. Drive yourself to perform more and more insane spots. You have to drive yourself to grow perpetually.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and flung it away with the same flick of the wrist as before. His motions were exaggerated for the camera.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
Outside the ring the corporation demands propriety. Don’t go out and party. Post this on social media. Don’t tweet that. You can’t put that in writing. He doesn’t work for this promotion. Demands. Even the matches come with demands.
Austin tilted the camera downward to give it a better view of the apron and the Last Survivor logo for a fraction of a moment before pulling it back up to eye level. He smiled halfheartedly.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
The format of Last Survivor demands that every man is for himself and watches his own back. It demands that only one in thirty can win. It demands that you be willing to put even your most trusted ally to rest if you want to be the one with a shot at the EBWF World Championship. Demands.
Austin released the camera and walked backwards toward the center of the ring. He motioned toward the entrance ramp with his right hand and the camera turned. The tron was showing the new countdown for Last Survivor. It reached zero and the camera focused back on Austin in the center of the ring with his hands tucked behind his back.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
You think the competitors in this match are any less demanding? Xavier Woods and Aiden English demand that we look upon them as Royalty. Did either man earn their claim to King? Perhaps. But neither of them earned it recently. The only person with a claim to the title King in EBWF is Mysterio and he seems to be mysteriously missing from this match at the moment. Aiden English even has a King’s Guard following him around like a pair of lost ducklings but I think the weight of them gripping at his ankles is holding him back from being the man he once was within the confines of the EBWF. Not before that. Outside the EBWF Aiden English was a nobody. A nothing. That’s how the company got such a great deal on his initial contract. I’d be willing to bet that if it wasn’t for EBWF he’d be trolling the midcard of some small indy promotion trying to reclaim a modicum of success from the jaws of unemployment. But, he was something. He was the pinnacle of success within the company. He shot through the ranks from the lowest of curtain jerkers to the top of the card in a matter of a year. He ascended from the past and flourished into something new and powerful. Then it all came crashing down. Like Iccarus, the demands of success were too great for him and he couldn’t support the weight of the company on his shoulders. He couldn’t bear the demands of being the best and so he fell from grace with burning wings into the ashes of his former self we see today. Kingdom he claims. King he demands. Nothing he gets in return for all his squawking. Xavier is something of a mockingbird. He’s lying the same claims. Potentially he’s blazing the same trail as the King who came before. He’s already claimed the Breakout Championship in his short time here with the company. Admittedly that’s more than I can seem to accomplish. But, I haven’t been afforded the same opportunity as our friend Woods. I haven’t been showered with shots at titles. I haven’t had the golden path to glory laid at my feet like the Kings had. I haven’t been handed a crown and scepter in turn. Life has demanded a harder road for Austin Gunn. A rocky road. A road fraught with challenges and setbacks. A road that winds and turns in on itself. Life has demanded that I be prepared for the burden of success when I achieve it and I am prepared. I will not succumb to the weight of the crown when it comes to rest on my head. I will not falter to the demands of leadership. I will command a respect on my name that doesn’t require me to call myself King. Others will make that demand for me. Others that I don’t keep on staff. Others that I don’t pay to sing my praises, laude my accomplishments and stroke my ego.
Austin held out his empty left palm and shrugged. He glanced down at his open hand.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
Because, I demand a higher respect than the one that can be paid for with a checkbook and my daddy’s money. I seek a respect stronger than the supply and demand of my pocket book. I’m not MJF. I don’t bother with people I have to pay to have in my back pocket. I don’t rely on anyone that wants a payday to better position me in my career. Those aren’t friends, they’re employees. Employees with demands. Demands that you have to meet. Promises that you have to keep. And when you can’t handle the cost. When you can’t shoulder the burden of those promises. Then those employees are going to become enemies of the worst kind. They’re going to become enemies who know how you work, who understand your mind, who have seen the depths of your personality and pocketbook in kind. They become enemies who wait silently for the opportunity to put you out to pasture. The demands of Last Survivor make your Dynasty a burden. If not to you then to them. Only one of you can win. Only one can stand tall. Only one of you can go the distance and all the others have to sit it out. Maybe you pay well enough that they’re willing to take the dive after they carry you to the end of the match. Maybe you have convinced them that you're a messiah whom they owe it to. Maybe they are going to do the deed Max. And this could be your moment. But loss leaves a bitter taste in the mouths of those who aren’t accustomed to losing. To a true competitor a loss, even one you planned for, is an unshakable demand to be better next time. A loss demands that you get better. IT DEMANDS YOU GET REVENGE. And so Austin, Navarro and Holliday may well lay down for you. They may willingly hurl themselves over the top rope to see to your shot at the title. But they’re going to hold onto that moment. That abandonment of their dreams is going to bite them while they sleep. It’s going to creep into every thought they have. Then one day one of them is going to wake up to what they’ve become. What they’ve allowed your wallet has demanded of them. One day they are going to have enough and they are going to snap. Which one? Who knows. I’d guess Ace or KC from personal experience. Besides, it seems Holliday is more than happy being your lap dog these days. I’m sure that you’ll be able to hold onto him for as long as you want because his future is about as bright as the coffee you demand he keeps fetching! Not Ace, who’s used to being one of the top guys. Not Navarro, if any of his sister’s personality is present in him. Those are the two you’re going to have to watch your back about. The two that demand you keep one eye on each of them at all times for fear of them turning on you like Benedict Arnold at West Point. That’s a sword that I wouldn’t want hanging over my head. Imagine the willpower you will have to draw on just to wake up in the morning. But, don’t get a big head Maxi Pad, yours isn’t the only group clamoring for a single shot with a cadre of contenders.
Austin closed his open hand into a fist. His smile drew up into a smirk. He turned to show the camera his profile with his fist closest to the camera.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
Four guys pales in comparison to the Coalition that makes up half the entrants or more. Just knowing their membership demands an eidetic memory and a thousand hours of research. Hell, you have to have a history degree in professional wrestling to list the accolades these men have garnered over the last six decades of active wrestling. Stop me if you’ve heard this one. A mayor, a movie star and a misfit walk into a bar. Redneck bubba is already inside shouting for someone to get him a table. Even the thought of it reads like a joke in the most poorly written play in humanities history. What do the members of the Coalition even have in common? It's like Alexa went and rounded up all the creepy uncles of the EBWF and pulled them into one group. One group that demands respect and praise for accomplishments some of us weren’t alive to witness in the first place. Demands that we show them deference for everything they’ve done in another company, under another banner, with a different boss under different conditions. And I for one am growing tired of the demands of the previous generation. I for one demand that these aging superstars make room for the future of the industry. I for one demand that things get better instead of worse and that requires people like the Coalition signing their late retirement paperwork and getting themselves out of the workplace while they can still walk without assistance. Ageist? HELL YES! This isn’t the past. This is the present and those that are in their prime should be the one’s calling the shots. We should be the one on the billboards. We should be the one making headlines. I shouldn’t have to wake up and read a story about Christian becoming the Breakout Champion when the only thing he’s likely to break is his hip. I shouldn’t be told to fear Kane when we’ve all seen him stoop and bow at the feet of petty kings like a corporate shill. I shouldn’t have to see the Dudley Boyz clinging to the tag team division like fleas on the back of a rabid dog. Too afraid to make their own path because they’ve relied on one another for so long. I’m starting to think the pair of them might be conjoined twins. I DEMAND to know what Maven has ever done to improve the sport of professional wrestling. Sure he was tough enough to make it on television but was he truly the best choice even then? Surely there had to be someone who would have been a better fit for the industry. Maybe if Al had pulled his HEAD out of his ass for a few moments I’d be about to run down Harvard elite Nowinski instead of this nobody Maven. Maybe if Maven had wisened up he’d be floating around in obscurity like everyone else who was ever tough enough to be drug into the house show rotation. Maybe if a certain company we’ve closed the door on would have gotten to the point sooner I’d be thinking about someone from the Next generation and not someone from the past generation. Generations are a tricky thing. Aren’t they? Sometimes I get confused about where the Coalition ends because of how many generational stars there are floating around the night sky of the EBWF Universe. Stars that burned their brightest in the long nights before the coming of the internet. Stars that burned their brightest before the dawn of EBWF, before there was no longer a monopoly on national television.
Austin walked toward the ropes on the ramp side of the ring. He leaned over them and turned his head to the side to maintain eye contact while speaking.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
When I see names like Chavo Guerrero Junior my first instinct is to roll him into the shadow of Coalition and call it day. Write him off like the rest of the has beens bouncing around the ring like they want to be thirty again. But then I stop and I take in the fact that he’s something more than just one of Christian’s lackeys. Not better, just different because he’s one of Aiden English’s lackeys. At the very least his motivations for tying himself to a dying horse seem to be better than the rest of his generation’s. How noble to drag yourself out of the retirement home and fight your way back so that you can stand beside family and give them your support. I’m honestly impressed with the dedication you’ve shown to your uncle’s legacy. Let’s be plain though, it is your uncle’s legacy. The Guerrero name may have been big in El Paso but it was Eddie that made you a household name. Well, your family. And now you’re still dragging him around from town to town and parading around your connection to him so that you can put food on the table for your wife and kids. Which, I respect. If wrestling is the only thing you’ve ever known and your kids have got to eat, then you abase and abuse that family name until there isn’t a shred of goodwill left for the Guerrero’s in wrestling! You and Raquel keep calling forth every memory of Eddie until they’ve all been worn out and faded like wallet sized portraits being paraded by proud parents. It doesn’t change who you are, Chavito. It doesn’t make you a better wrestler. The Guerrero family is great. Eddie was great. You were a tag along, famous for being essentially his manservant and whipping boy. Every time you’ve tried to step out on your own, someone has put you back into that place. I guess that’s why you’ve hitched your wagon to Aiden and Elias this time. Aiden was on his way up and he pulled you up behind him to play the whipping boy again. Don’t think anyone in wrestling has forgotten that you were beaten and abandoned by the people you call family not that long ago. Yet when he wanted you back in his good graces you came running. You folded like a bag full of fresh corn chips with my togo order. You dropped to your knees and you pleaded to be a part of Kingdom in the service of your false royalty. And that coward Elias fell to his knees right beside you.
Austin dropped to his back and slid out of the ring. The camera panned around the ring post to meet him on the outside. He hauled up a guitar and smashed it across the ring apron. He tossed the debris aside with a deadpan expression.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
The court jester drew up his lute and he played a song of forgiveness. Like you, he begged to be in the good graces of Aiden and Raquel. Like you he has followed their commands, rolled over, shown his belly and all for nothing. Nothing in return. The two of you have demanded no respect. You’ve demanded no return. You’ve asked for nothing and nothing is what you’ve both got! Now Elias still has a few years left to build himself up but even he is starting to wane. Even he has little left in the way of talent and more and more of it spills out for Aiden with each passing moment. However, he is the only member of Kingdom likely to be in the ring when I arrive in the Last Survivor match. So I guess if I want some measure of retribution for the words exchanged on Warfare, I’m going to have to take them out of the court jester’s brightly colored hide.
Austin held up a hand and waved by opening and closing almost in a one handed clap.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
Hi. I’m going to demand a little more respect than what you showed me backstage. But I won’t stoop and bow, beg and plead to receive it. You want something in this life, you have to work for it with your own hands. You have to bleed your own blood, drown in your own sweat and determination. Life demands sacrifice before reward. Elias, you and I are going to do more than mince words at Last Survivor. I’m going to be the man that tosses you out of that ring and ends Kingdom’s hope for a brighter future! I’m going to be the one you can’t forget about come Monday morning. When Aiden is whipping you, screaming and ranting about how you got eliminated by an Ass Boy, you just remember that it was Austin Gunn that read you your last rights before he put you out to pasture! You remember how you joked at my expense when there were three of you standing shoulder to shoulder. Because, I’m going to make you pay for those sins man to man. One at a time if I have to. I demand retribution for your slight against me. I demand it and it will be granted!
Austin swept aside bits of broken guitar with his foot and started walking toward the camera. He leaned his back against the ringpost and put a foot up on the apron. He looked like he would be at home waiting on a bus in New York.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
Elias Samson, Chavo Guerrero and Aiden English aren’t the only men who have slighted me since I joined the EBWF. Really, my career here hasn’t been everything I had hoped it would be. It hasn’t been the best time in the tag division because the tag division has been viewed as a joke. A joke being told by RatedRKO. Attempts to get them locked down in a match for the titles have gone unanswered and unheard. Demands to jump start a tag scene have fallen on deaf ears. Now, at Last Survivor, there is a chance to show that they are clinging to the tag titles not through a lack of competition but because that competition is being stymied by the powers that be. The competition is being held under and denied advancement to help Randy and Edge maintain a grip on the company and a stranglehold on the tag team division. I might be tempted to believe otherwise if EBWF didn’t have a history of writing the Tag Team Championships off television and not mentioning them for months on end. Only to drag them out in a feud between people that can’t draw tickets without something on the line. For a time, a brief moment, it looked like Rated RKO was going to pull all the gold, consolidate it and mint a new legacy for themselves. But someone couldn’t keep a belt on. Not surprising to say the least. I heard a rumor that he’s had that problem in the past too. One that may or may not have landed him a suspension or fine in the day. Regardless, Orton clucked it up like Foghorn Leghorn walking into a KFC at lunchtime. So now instead of a clean sweep Edge is holding the Gateway title staring at his best friend’s former glory and debating if he can hold on longer than Orton did. Debating if he can be a better World Champion. The pair of them, their ability to work together and apart is truly astounding. The fact that they both want to be the better half of their pairing and don’t actively stab one another at any given moment is either a miracle or a lie. I bet that it won’t be long before we start to see the cracks in the armor of friendship. The moment Orton wants a rematch and Edge wants to cash in. What it won’t be is because one of them is the Last Survivor. That’s not going to happen because neither of them are making it that far. You would do well to count them lucky if either of them is around to see Prince Devitt make an appearance. A hundred and eighty seconds. That's how much faith I have in our Gateway Champion. That’s how little I think of the Rated in Rated RKO. He’s got as much of a chance in this thing as a vampire playing beach volleyball.
Austin pantomimed serving as he chuckled at his own joke.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
Devitt oh man, I guess I just walked right into another faction filling the ranks of the Last Survivor match. Bullet Club. Man, I’ve been dreading this topic like it was a colostomy bag wrapped around the ankle of old Stunning Steve himself. We all know the story about how the Japanese crowd took to the Club and made them stars when they couldn’t get anything going in their careers Stateside. We’ve all seen them branch out and blossom in their own right since taking the oath of brotherhood. I bet at any second there is at least one member of the Bullet Club working a match somewhere in the world. That’s why the Club is running around here sans a few of the more ELITE members. Because, those who can, should leave the Bullet Club in Japan where it rose to fame. Where it matters. Where it thrives. Americans, we understand something that the Japanese crowd doesn’t. We know about bullets. We know that bullets alone are worthless and that to get anything done you’re going to need one hell of a Gunn! Looking at your roster, that's something you don’t have. You're a faction of holdouts and leftovers trying to cling to a glory that you didn’t create. Devitt. You want to know why the Bullet Club is famous on this side of the pond boy-o, two words. Kenny Omega. The Ace of the Bullet Club got out while the getting was good and he took all the talent it had left with him. You don’t have your ace. Which is sad because even Dynasty has an Ace. You Prince, you can’t even live up to the hype of the second best Bullet Club member, Styles. Now you’re trying to bring the band back together. You managed to grab the Guerrillas of Destiny. Thankfully they weren’t talented enough for anyone else in the world to want to showcase them so you could snap them up at bargain bin prices. Let’s not mince words though, Tonga Loa and Tama Tonga belong in that bargain bin. Like me they are saddled with the demands stemming from your father being a wrestling icon. And Haku is a wrestling icon. But they haven’t done anything to live up to their father’s name or crawl out of his shadow. No, they are content like Chavo to eat at the plate of family without ever bringing anything to the table. That's why they follow around our pal Prince like he had a golden carrot growing out of his ass. The closest thing the Bullet Club has to the glory of Kenny Omega is his former protege. Is that the right word? Towel boy? His former bag man? Adam Cole. It’s not story time anymore Cole. Now is a time for action and you're a man of words. All talk Adam Cole. And that is all you will ever be Cole. A man of many flowery words. A man with a microphone playing second fiddle to whomever the Club is calling Boss these days. You did it with Omega and your pals the Bucks. You’re doing it again with Devitt and Destiny’s Illegitimate Child. I know more about you than you would care for me to know. Heard it all from the Bucks while you were still streaming only.
Austin pulled himself up and sat on the apron. He was still leaning on the corner post. He laid his arm over the bottom rope and taped it gently with his thumb for a moment as he collected his thoughts. The pause was covered with repeated ‘mmmm’, ‘mmmm’, ‘mmmm’ mumbling.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
Oh man, Nick and Matt. We’re about to get into some real talk that might paint me in a less than flattering light. But it’s okay. I want the world to see the two of you for who you are. It wasn’t long ago that the Bucks put three of us on a plane to Rancho Cucamonga. Colten, dad and myself. They flew us out and they sung the praises of being All Elite. They talked about the brave new world they were building with Omega and Rhodes. With Tony and the Jaguars. Which was stupid considering I live in Orlando. But anyhow. They fly the three of us out there, wine and dine us, feed us a line of crap about how this is going to be the best wrestling company in the world. We sign on the dotted line. One year for my brother and I with an extra tacked on for dear old dad. The price of doing business they say. That’s when I put two and two together. The Bucks didn’t want the Gunn Club. They wanted Billy Gunn. He just weaseled us onto the roster as a term of his contract negotiations. Which, good for him. But, the Bucks weren’t beyond doing the deal in secret. They weren’t beyond playing backroom politics to further their little pet project. Which, couldn’t have gone too well if they’re here now knocking on our door looking to make a name for themselves in the EBWF. It will be interesting to see how differently things go for them in a company where they don’t get the corner office and a title to go with their power. How things will go in a place where they have to work for things instead of just demanding them. It will be interesting to see just how far down Nick’s throat I can shove my fist! Less than interesting to see the two of them in a place where the tag division is nothing but an afterthought.
Austin put his hand to his temple and made an explosion gesture.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
Speaking of afterthoughts, we can’t forget about Paul London. That man is so much of an afterthought around here that he’s got his own time machine. All the time in the world and he hasn’t put in enough training to be better than he is. How pathetic! You would think he might use that machine of his to travel to all the best wrestlers to ever live and ask them for advice. But, he hasn’t. I know he hasn’t because he’s never come to me looking for help and advice to improve his wrestling. He’s never stepped foot into a Gunn owned ring to pick up a trick of the trade. The man hasn’t done anything to better himself. A gift he squanders that so many others would make better use of. Not London, he’s a serial non-starter who surrounds himself with people and things even less talented than himself. Things like Luchasaurus and Jungle Boy. Two failed experiments that he keeps around for insurance or amusement. That seven foot tall freak show in a green mask makes me nauseated just looking at him. You would think that he would put his god given size to good use and be one of the best competitors this industry has ever seen but instead he wastes his time and talent working alongside Paul and the Kid. He should be a headliner but because of his associations he’s been jerking the curtain since his debut. Now he hopes to do something with the Last Survivor match. His size demands respect. His talent and decision making leave something to be desired. And that top heavy frame of his is going to make him that much easier to topple over the top rope with a clothesline or four. Nine oh two one oh over here demands significantly less respect. Talk about the spitting image of your father. Like him, maybe you’ll get somewhere on your looks. Because, like him you are lacking when it comes to talent. If I were you I would turn to acting like dear old because it’s a less demanding hobby. Boy, It’s no surprise you would rather tag with a dinosaur than stand on your own two feet. Hell, daddy couldn’t start a solo career to save his life either. You think I’m going to shy away from the topic at hand? You’d be mistaken because I’m not that type! I don’t care about your family tree, your happiness or anything else to do with you. I care about me and mine. And, I’m going to cut your family tree down to size so I can beat your Barney buddy with the branches! I demand you reconsider what you’re doing in the EBWF. Make way for the talented and keep yourself confined to that cage Paul raised you in!
Austin jumped up to his feet on the apron and walked to the opposite corner post. He took hold of the tag rope before turning his attention back to the camera.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
I guess talking about family trees has to bring us around to talking about my own family tree. Some of you may have noticed that my brother and I have been going through a tough string of luck. Unfortunately, he and our father want to lay the blame for all our bad luck squarely on my shoulders. Now normally, I would grin and bear it. Take one on the chin for the team. Unfortunately for everyone in that locker room, I’m tired of being beaten down and taken advantage of. That’s why I’m here, alone. Because, I’m falling far from that apple tree and I am going to build a legacy for myself without the help of someone else. I’m going to be the better Gunn. Even if it means I have to be the only Gunn. I’m going to show Colten how to handle himself by example. I’m going to teach my older brother a lesson that our father never learned. I’m going to teach him that the world of wrestling isn’t just tag matches, goofy gimmicks and mooning the crowd for laughs. I’m going to teach Colten about the pain of fratricide if he doesn’t stand back and give me room to grow into my own. First, I am going to prove that if not an ally, I’m the worst enemy you could have. I’m going to demand that regardless of age and height you should be looking up to me.
Austin tossed the tag rope to the other side of the cornerpost and walked down the stairs. The camera had to sweep to the side to keep him in focus. He pushed the barricade open and walked out into the rows of steel chairs surrounding the ring. He held his hand out and swept in a circle knocking chairs down and aside with reckless abandon.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
I’m going to prove that I can be worse than the human wrecking ball Kevin Cyrus and his plunges into the corner. His work is all over the place, just like the man himself. He changes slogans so often that, hell, I’m not even sure which version he’s touting out these days. Is it Kill Steen Kill, Fight Steen Fight, or are we back to I think I can, I think I can? Keep thinking and dreaming little engine and maybe one of these days you’ll be a Breakout Champion! Wouldn’t that just be a dream come true for you little buddy? A whole championship just for you. I know that you can make it happen if you just work a little harder. Put on a slightly better show. Stop dressing like you ran out of dryer sheets and hair gel. Maybe, present yourself like the champion you so desperately desire to be instead of a homeless man. Just don’t keep emulating Joe. While I’ve already hit on this industry's demands on our appearance, it can’t be left unsaid here. There is a demand to look a certain way, and you have both avoided that demand for the better portion of your careers. You’d be better off if you had given in. I mean that very seriously, the extra pounds don’t make either of you look stronger or tougher. And, I get it. We live in a day and age where an athlete can come in any shape, size, color, gender, or any other tag you want to place on people. But, people have to like you. And, sadly for you, people generally judge the book by its cover. Sure, it’s contrary to common courtesy. Sure, it’s a bone headed way to live. But it is a fact of life. You’re going to get judged for the way you look and you work in an industry where your success, money and worth are all tied to how much or how little the crowd likes you. Maybe if you looked more like myself you wouldn’t have so much trouble holding onto a job for more than a handful of weeks Joe. Maybe if you looked more like me you wouldn’t be scrambling to make a name for yourself so late in your career. Maybe if you looked a little more like me you wouldn’t have been stuck in TNA when it was failing to make an Impact on the wrestling world for ten years. Maybe you wouldn’t have wasted the prime of your career under Dixie and her lack of knowledge. Maybe if you looked just a little more like me, you would matter in this industry. But you don’t. You don’t look like me. You don’t have my natural physique. You don’t have my natural talent. You have to walk the tough road, and I’m proud of you for walking it. But make no mistake, it hasn’t made you better. It’s made you weak from the load. Now, a light breeze could bowl you over. Even one as tired and old as Stone Cold Steve Austin.
Austin tilted his head down and looked at the mess of disturbed chairs. He feigned a look of worry or regret for a fleeting moment. His eyes gave away the glee building inside of him.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
Uncle Steve. A man so admired by my father that he named his most talented son after him. Yeah, that’s the truth. In the eyes of my father, Steve can do no wrong. Every choice the man makes is inspired. Every match he has is a ten star match. Every move he hits is the most devastating move in the history of professional wrestling. I find myself less enamored with my namesake by the hour. The shine built up, maintained and polished by my father is starting to fade. I’ve seen the man with my own two eyes and I’m not the least bit impressed. I hear and read that he’s had a storied career with some of the best feuds to ever come about. It’s all talk and stories. Locker room chatter about someone who has been built as a sort of god. Theres a demand of respect built up by the old timers in the locker room. Built by those who missed the truth of Steve Austin. He’s a man. A walking, talking, breathing man that can bleed just as quickly as anyone else in that locker room. A man who can be beat, pinned, submitted and just as easily tossed over that top rope as anyone else backstage. I’m going to prove that Steve. I’m going to prove it by tossing you over that top rope quicker than you can whistle dixie on your little Texas ranch. I’m going to put you out to pasture with a broken skull. Irony. Maybe you’ll come out here talking like some entitled third grader. You’ll rant about who you are and how much you’ve done. You call yourself the toughest SOB in the business and you’ll mean it. Regardless of how tough you think you are, the years haven’t been kind to you Steve. The glimmer of hope for a future career all but died when you walked out on the fans all those years ago. You couldn’t carry the demand on your time and body. You couldn’t hang on then and you won’t be able to hang on now. Maybe it’s time everyone in the back demand more from those they raise up on pedestals.
Austin waded back through the sea of toppled chairs and past the barricade. He stood at the corner of the ring staring up into it.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
Only the unknown remains laid out before me. Untouched by my verbal jabs. It’s hard to speak to something that has no name or face. It’s hard to put words to insults that don’t have a true target. Instead, I’ll be vague, general, succinct. Someone has thrown their name into the hat but been too fearful to step out into the spotlight and allow anyone to prepare for them. This is the hallmark of a coward. Hiding behind anonymity like a keyboard warrior typing up his manifesto on gluten free vegan sun cakes. Knowing that no one cares and it doesn’t drive traffic. The unknown does nothing to move the needle, push the excitement or put asses in chairs. It does nothing to further this match or benefit this show. And so the impact is as unimportant as putting a name to this foe. That is to say it’s nothing. If he was something, someone they would have his names up in lights, parading him around the ring like a damn dog and pony show. Why waste weeks of anticipation on a two second surprise? Because, it’s only the surprise that matters and not the man behind it. The EBWF Universe should demand more respect than the company is showing them. It will get a cheap pop. Possibly some reunion feels. Then it will be dead and buried by the time I make it to the ring, just like the Main event hopes of whoever it is hiding behind a mystery entrant moniker.
Austin got a running start and slid under the bottom rope back into the ring. The camera moved back to center quicker than he did and so he had to come back into the shot. He put his hands on hips and let out a deep breath.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
And so I’ve come full circle on all the men I will share this ring with at Last Survivor. I’ve mentioned the numerous factions and their throngs of members. How it seems that everyone has to have someone in their corner to get anything done these days. I’ve mentioned the warriors of former glory trying to cling to any shred of fame they can grasp all while selling their self respect down river. I’ve touched on a roster of unproven young talent knocking at the door but being held back by an oppressive regime that would rather see Edge hold the Gateway title than someone who has earned it by talent and not nepotism. I’ve demanded that everyone watching see the light of what is going on. I demanded that I be shown the respect that I have earned, not by the right of birth but by my own skill and talent. I’ve demanded that the EBWF locker room take me more seriously as a threat, a contender and a wrestler. At Last Survivor I am going to make good on my threats. I am going to prove that I am the best. I’m going to prove that while I’m Gunning for the top spot, I won’t hesitate to shoot my shot at anyone who stands in my way. I’m not going to back down from a challenge, I’m not going to shy from a fight. I’m not going to throw away my shot when it’s handed to me. And, while there is so much I haven’t done, the wrestling world is going to get turned upside down when they see what I can do when I’m focused. When I’m not in a playful mood. When I’m through clowning around and want to take something seriously.
Austin pulled his hand into the common gun gesture of the Gunn Club. He aimed the tip of his finger at the mat and stared long into the camera.
+---+ Austin Gunn +---+
It occurs to me that a lot of what I am saying is going to fall on def ears. That the people who move mountains with words are all sitting in the same room and pulling the same strings on the same puppets they’ve been making dance for decades. I realize that I’m not going to topple the regime overnight and correct the course of the EBWF to fall more in line with the talent of today. I realize that I am going to be hated for taking a stand against some of the EBWF Universe’s most beloved icons. I know that my words and actions are going to make me a target for everyone trying to lay claim to something that doesn’t rightfully belong to them. I understand the risk I am taking simply by opening my mouth and letting my emotions do the talking. But, I don’t care about the consequences of my actions because I know that I can stand in the face of those consequences and turn back the tide. I know that I can succeed. I know that no matter what trouble I build for myself, I will always be there to pull me out of it. Even if I have to claw and bite and scratch my way to the top, I will make it. I will become a legend among legends. The best of raw talent and dedicated training. The EBWF Universe is about to see that Austin Gunn is a true shooter with the legendary aim of Robin Hood and the ruthlessness of The Sheriff of Nottingham. That I’m the carefree outlaw Billy the Kid and justice seeking lawman Pat Garret rolled into one. I am charisma, constantly on display for the pleasure of anyone with enough sense to pay attention, and power. I am the future of this industry and the future begins now!
Austin Gun aimed his finger gun at the screen before pulling back on his thumb repeatedly as if rapidly firing a revolver. He turned his opposite leg away from the camera and pretended to holster a weapon. With a smile and a slight nod he sent the camera fading to black. There were several moments of black before a loud bang sounded and a stylized bullet hole appeared on screen. Then without warning the video ended.