In Threes
Posted: Mon Jun 08, 2015 10:52 pm
An EBWF logo flashed across the screen and faded up to a dark scene. A pitch black room with the exception of a solitary beam of light barely illuminating the figure of the Silent Assassin, Randy Orton, in a seated position. He looked up at the camera.
Randy Orton: A lot of people are asking me some pretty stupid questions, lately.
He rubbed his jaw in contemplation.
Randy Orton: A lot of people asking me if I think it’s fair that I get another shot at the King of the Ring. You know, considering the fact that I won it in 2013. And 2014. With so many young guys in the company, hungry competitors who want to punch their ticket. Is it fair that a veteran of EBWF gets another chance to hog the spotlight?
Randy hunched his shoulders in a lackadaisical shrug.
Randy Orton: Perhaps they’re right. Hey, I’m an ancient 35 years of age. I’ve got a family, I’ve got more money than I’ll ever be able to spend. Maybe it’s time I took a step aside, stopped casually walking in here every so often to show everyone what I’m capable of. Who I can hurt, and how badly I can do it. Maybe it’s time that I give the spotlight to someone else.
Randy shifted on the dark, indiscinerable object that he was sitting on.
Randy Orton: Then I look at guys like the Young Bucks. Guys who stroll into this company like their name is on the building. Guys who expect that their acrobatic moveset is sufficient enough to get worshipped by everyone. Arrogant, brash, egotistical punks without a shred of humility. But enough about why I like them.
He smirked.
Randy Orton: The Young Bucks are a prime example of why I can’t just step aside and let all these inferior athletes run roughshod over the company. I can’t sit idly by while Matt and Nick Jacksons of the company think that this is their playground, that this is their yard. It isn’t. This is my yard. My domain. I own it. And it’s about time for you to pay your rent.
He tapped his wrist with two fingers, an icy stare remaining fixated on the camera.
Randy Orton: For two years, the EBWF had been fortunate enough to have a King who continued to rule from the shadows. A King who would let everyone believe that they were free, and they were truly safe. But maybe that was a mistake. Maybe now I need to take a more… active role. Perhaps it’s time to pull the wheat into the barn and burn the chaff away with unquenchable fire. And so it will be with Matt Jackson tonight. And when I’m done with him, I’ll burn through three other athletes until all that’s standing here is me and my crown.
Randy grinned maliciously.
Randy Orton: A lot of people asked me the same stupid question. Would I really attempt to win the King of the Ring Tournament a third time in a row?
Randy sat back as the camera zoomed out and the lights faded up to full brightness in the room. The full lights revealed the object Randy had been sitting on - a lavishly ornamented golden throne with the RKO logo emblazoned at the top of the back rest. He put his hands on the arm rests and casually gestured towards his throne.
Randy Orton: Does that answer your question?
The EBWF logo flashed across the bottom as the camera faded on Randy’s frosty stare.
Randy Orton: A lot of people are asking me some pretty stupid questions, lately.
He rubbed his jaw in contemplation.
Randy Orton: A lot of people asking me if I think it’s fair that I get another shot at the King of the Ring. You know, considering the fact that I won it in 2013. And 2014. With so many young guys in the company, hungry competitors who want to punch their ticket. Is it fair that a veteran of EBWF gets another chance to hog the spotlight?
Randy hunched his shoulders in a lackadaisical shrug.
Randy Orton: Perhaps they’re right. Hey, I’m an ancient 35 years of age. I’ve got a family, I’ve got more money than I’ll ever be able to spend. Maybe it’s time I took a step aside, stopped casually walking in here every so often to show everyone what I’m capable of. Who I can hurt, and how badly I can do it. Maybe it’s time that I give the spotlight to someone else.
Randy shifted on the dark, indiscinerable object that he was sitting on.
Randy Orton: Then I look at guys like the Young Bucks. Guys who stroll into this company like their name is on the building. Guys who expect that their acrobatic moveset is sufficient enough to get worshipped by everyone. Arrogant, brash, egotistical punks without a shred of humility. But enough about why I like them.
He smirked.
Randy Orton: The Young Bucks are a prime example of why I can’t just step aside and let all these inferior athletes run roughshod over the company. I can’t sit idly by while Matt and Nick Jacksons of the company think that this is their playground, that this is their yard. It isn’t. This is my yard. My domain. I own it. And it’s about time for you to pay your rent.
He tapped his wrist with two fingers, an icy stare remaining fixated on the camera.
Randy Orton: For two years, the EBWF had been fortunate enough to have a King who continued to rule from the shadows. A King who would let everyone believe that they were free, and they were truly safe. But maybe that was a mistake. Maybe now I need to take a more… active role. Perhaps it’s time to pull the wheat into the barn and burn the chaff away with unquenchable fire. And so it will be with Matt Jackson tonight. And when I’m done with him, I’ll burn through three other athletes until all that’s standing here is me and my crown.
Randy grinned maliciously.
Randy Orton: A lot of people asked me the same stupid question. Would I really attempt to win the King of the Ring Tournament a third time in a row?
Randy sat back as the camera zoomed out and the lights faded up to full brightness in the room. The full lights revealed the object Randy had been sitting on - a lavishly ornamented golden throne with the RKO logo emblazoned at the top of the back rest. He put his hands on the arm rests and casually gestured towards his throne.
Randy Orton: Does that answer your question?
The EBWF logo flashed across the bottom as the camera faded on Randy’s frosty stare.
