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DSD | Cyborg -- The Tenuous Calm Before the Storm

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DSD | Cyborg -- The Tenuous Calm Before the Storm

Post by D.Young77 on Mon Jul 10, 2017 8:52 pm

Back from a commercial break DSD is standing in the middle of the ring in front of a trash can with Cyborg's mask hanging off the rim, under a spotlight, while the rest of the arena is not well lit. DSD stands there in a nice suit looking off into the distance. His eyes are filled with reflection and he rolls a bic lighter  in between his fingers. DSD looks down at the lighter, lighting it a few times as if to use the flames to snap himself out of some kind of haze. As he stops fidgeting with the lighter, DSD stares at the mask. He grabs the mask off the rim clutching it in his hands staring at as if it's mocking him then lights the mask tossing it into the trash can. DSD starts speaking in a very calm and composed manner. His voice is steady and there's nary a hint of a raised inflection in his tone.

I want to tell you all a story. It's a personal one and I'm hoping you can tell that it had quite the impact on me. Long before I ever got into CMV, a close friend and I were friends and rivals trying to make it on the regional circuit. We shared bookings and traveled the globe together and this guy was so good that he was just racking up singles titles left and right. Before I was anything, before I had to reinvent myself, he was a star, and I was just a average young punk trying to make his bread. I had a small loft, real cold in the winter and real hot in the summer. He had a nice house he had earned, shared with a beautiful woman and her family that he was paying off at a far quicker rate than I EVER dreamed of even getting my own home. He had an indoor gym in his home plus a personal home theater. EVERY WEEKEND when there wasn't a booking, the seldom times there wasn't, I'd drive all the way up to his place to spend the weekend. Partially because we were friends, partially because I valued his advice and partially because the house was very damn cool. But you know the number one  reason why I went there?
Because I wanted to remind myself every day that I was nothing---and my friend was a something. I need to remind myself of what success was while I, point blank, was a failure....

DSD looks at the camera and his eyes get serious. He takes a deep breath as the memory of those days wash over him.

See success is a weird thing, man. It's fleeting. It's a quick pop, but the pain of a loss? I can STILL tell you of the losses I've had move for move. When you win and win a lot, you almost become numb to it. It's expected. A loss? It stings just a little bit more. I don't think of the matches that I've won where I tore the house down, I think of the times where I could've won and didn't. I think of the fact that my friend took titles from me. I love him to death but EVERY SINGLE TITLE WIN he held over me is absolutely on my mind whenever we met. You don't just let go of those losses. The true value of a man is what happens when things go wrong. When you lose. What kind of person are you when you're not successful? When things go wrong, who do you become? So how do YOU handle a loss, Cyborg?

DSD pauses and shakes his head. He lets the questions linger in the air, the color in his face returning to normal after he had shouted and screamed. He takes a big deep breath and talks calmly, his free hand gesticulating to match the tone of his words

See, because I really don't know how you handle a loss, Cyborg. You took on a guy like Sunshine, a champion multiple times over. You gave him hell and you bullied him around and you beat up on him but....you still lost. Bison threw him around and put yourself on the world stage BUT you still lost. Two times. Two losses to the best, Cyborg. Two soul crushing main event losses vs the absolute best this sport had to offer. What's that turned you into?
There's two types of people when it comes to losses like that. Two groups of men and women with two different responses to that kind of a loss. I need to know which one you are, Cyborg.
Me? Well it eats me up, man. A loss eats me up inside. I will NEVER accept losing. I'll die before I look back at my career and say "that loss was allowable." Those losses I have to me are all about missed opportunities, about what we lose out on. About losing out on titles or the winner’s purse or even just for prideful reasons. One day should I be forced to retire because of some kind of life threatening illness or whatever, I'll remember those losses more than I will my triumphs. I'll never forget the difference in how I'm treated if I lose or if I win. You know that when you WIN, YOU'RE A HERO! WHEN YOU LOSE, EVERYBODY GIVES YOU DIFFERENT LOOKS! EITHER THEY LAUGH AT YOU OR THEY PITY YOU! A LOSER IS THE LEPER OF THE BUSINESS WE LIVE IN!

DSD takes a second to catch his breath and calm down. He's got a vein in his nick sticking out and his face is foaming at the mouth. He closes his eyes and takes one big deep breath, his hands shaking as he just tries to calm himself.

When I took on Cyborg at Thunder in Tokyo, the story wrote itself. It was young vs old, size vs size, power vs grit and upside vs intelligence. What you DIDN'T consider was toughness vs toughness. We hit each other with every move in the book, we went through physical and emotional torment! The combat was intense, raw and flat out brutal but here's the thing. At the very end of the day! When the time was done and all was over and the smoke had settled and the reality settled in, Cyborg was JUST a little bit tougher than I was. I simply could not match the toughness that ONE man brought to the table because whereas he kicked out, I couldn't. He was just a tougher man than I was on that night.
And that sort of revelation leads to all kinds of soul searching. It leads to deep, sleepless nights of wondering whether or not it was a glimpse into reality or just an aberration. See you can always make those little technical refinements, you can always gameplan better but you can't make yourself tougher. Once you lose your edge, it's gone forever and there's NO getting it back. Toughness is like reflexes; it's like your intelligence; it's like an untouchable essential tool, you either have it or you don't and IF you have it, there's no guarantee you keep it. After a while you start to question whether or not it's worth it. Whether your toughness is a detriment and whether the easy way out is the right path. I've spent weeks on end wondering if Cyborg didn't JUST beat me but exposed reality to me. What if Cyborg revealed that I simply am not tough enough to cut it anymore? What if....what if this is truly it for me?

DSD lets out a slight sigh and then begins to speak some more



And silence soon follows.

Cheers, boos, screams, shouts--all caught in the throats of the collective masses as they wait patiently for this history-making clash to unfurl.

When the lights are switched on, DSD finds himself in the ring with Cyborg--two bitter rivals for over a year--face to face once more--a scene so rare that cameras are flashing and millions are trying to commit this scene to memory--they know they’ll likely never see this again.

DSD clenches his jaw--anger, frustration every conceivable emotion synonymous with hatred bubbles up from the darkest part of his soul--the coldest part of his heart. The kind of emotions, when left unchecked, threaten to create monsters.

The kind of emotions that birthed men like Cyborg.

The tension is so thick, you’d think it’d be impossible to breathe in that room--suddenly the ring doesn’t seem so massive with these two standing in it. And stand they do, for it seems as though time stands still--the calm before the storm--the unsettling stillness before the bomb drops and nothing but pain, tears, blood and anguish is left behind in the fallout.

Just the way Cyborg likes it.

Yes, the end to a very dangerous game is coming to an explosive end and chances are that one, perhaps both, of these men will barely live to tell the tale once the debris settles on the blackened, burned ground.

It began with Cyborg taking exception to DSD’s words, and The Gate City God’s subsequent loss at Thunder in Tokyo should have been enough to humble him---but is anything ever enough for Cyborg?

He preyed on DSD’s emotions, fed on it like a maggot on a corpse until it culminated with a blow more devastating than any fist could ever deliver: the robbery of DSD’s world championship match at Implosion. Now before Cyborg, stands the nearly broken man he spent months picking apart little by little until the once proud multi-time world champion was left with little more than his pride and his life.

Cyborg watches with a cold, dark expression on his face as DSD’s body twitches violently--struggling to maintain his composure, dying to unleash hell on the man who has ruined his career.

The masked man watches for a few seconds more…

Then laughs.

A mean laugh, devoid of any genuine amusement.

A laugh meant to mock and taunt.

A laugh intended to pour salt on the metaphorical gaping wound.

A laugh that sends DSD over the edge.

With a primal scream, DSD charges forward and nails Cyborg with a clothes---


When the lights flash on again, Cyborg is standing on the other side of the ring.



Fool me once…

DSD snaps around, charges toward the big man looking for a--


When the lights turn back on, Cyborg is now standing on the stage.

Fool me twice…

Watching DSD intently, Cyborg reaches and pulls a microphone out of his coat pocket. The crowd murmuring ceases almost immediately. All watch with eyes wide and listen closely.

D’Angelo Saint Daniels.

He utters the name with such contempt, such disdain and in such a condescending way that he could stop there and the message would be delivered loud and clear. Still, he presses on.

Remember that you brought this on yourself.

Remember that your followers cheered you on as you spiraled toward your demise.

When I’m finished with you, remember that you had several chances to walk away.

He chuckles coldly.

But you always turned back.

Pride is what got you here. Pride and a failure to see that in your desperation to reclaim a peak you’ve long since fallen short of, you spoke out of turn. Instead of apologizing, you fought. Instead of asking for mercy, you fought. Instead of admitting that this was a battle you could not win, you fought.

And you failed.

Let that sink in. It’s the truth, and you know it. Whether you want to accept it or not will determine whether or not Implosion is the last time you are physically capable of wrestling. We’ve been down this road before...and I beat you. You tried.

And you failed.

Still you come crawling back for seconds.

I’ll gladly feed you the rest of what I have in store for you and watch as you choke on your mistakes.

Cyborg’s eyes are piercing and focused as he stares down the ramp at DSD.

In your lowest points..when you were alone and hurting...I know you looked into the mirror and asked a single question: “Why me?”

Why you, DSD? There have been plenty of men who have said things they will suffer for. Plenty of men who have done things that will be rectified in due time.

ALL who have wronged me will get what they deserve.

You jumped to the top of the list. Your words and your actions, they caught my attention. Why you? Because you were the one one I was most disappointed in. A man who could have been so much more, allowing himself to look weak.

A weak, pathetic excuse for greatness who had the nerve to claim he could deliver pain. Your pain and my pain are world’s apart. Your pain is an inconvenience. My pain destroys lives. You may hate me for what I’ve done, but it was the only way you could learn. The only way you would understand.

The title match that I took? You didn’t deserve it. You weren’t ready for it. Your doubts, your crippling second guessing...all bigger threats than I could ever pose. I saved you from another embarrassment. You were on the verge of falling apart long before we crossed paths; I’m merely the one who will put you out of your misery once and for all if you don’t shed this coward’s skin and become what you once were.

He tilts his head to the side and regards DSD for a moment.

In your eyes burns the fire that once pushed you to heights never thought possible. A fire rekindled because of the confidence and motivation bestowed upon you by every obstacle put in your way. But nearly hidden in the smoke created by those flames is the uncertainty of your future. The unknowingness of if you can beat the one man you actually want to defeat.

Implosion is your final chance. Implosion determines whether that fire burns out or burns forever. And despite all that I’ve said, I do not pity you. I do not feel sorry for you. I do not and will not feel remorse for a man who let himself be put in this position.

If you come as you are... at Implosion you will fail...just as you have before.

I will not relent.

I will show you no mercy.

I will make you beg for death.

I will show you that you are no god.

I will unleash wrath the likes of which has never been seen before and will have you waking up in cold sweats for years to come.

I will break you and leave you to drown in a puddle of your excretions as that would be the fitting end for a man who continues to employ the same methods in hopes of a different outcome.

At lot of men claim to be dangerous, frightening, the devil incarnate, but I will show you at Implosion why they ALL would fear being in your shoes.

He pauses for a moment, his eyes never leaving DSD’s.

Remember that you wanted this.

I did want this. I want this to be a real fight. I don't want to walk out of here feeling like I had a nice day of work and it was all easy peasy. I want to leave there with a few lumps on my face. See the sunglasses I have in my hand? I want to be wearing these at the end of the night. Not because they're fashionable! But because I want to cover up the bumps and bruises on my face of a hard, tough match. I really, truly do want nothing but your worst. I want nothing simple because in life, simplicity breeds complacency. I want to be beat up, I want to be sore and I want to feel a fight. I NEED to feel a fight. So I hope you show up and give me hell on earth. I hope you show up and give me a reason to feel pain and agony. I hope he gives me a reason to wake up in a hospital bed wishing I was dead on the following Monday morning. I'll be seeing you at Las Vegas.

Silence falls between them leaving nothing but the murmuring of the crowd and the crackling of Cyborg’s mask burning in the trash can. After everything, they’ve come to an understanding: only one of them will be walking out at Implosion--if they’re physically capable of walking at all.

Cyborg raises the microphone to speak, to get the final word in, but then his eyes fall on that trash can. His mask, his namesake, his legacy, burning in that ring--something he’s held himself from addressing despite DSD dangling the bait in front of him--proudly being able to hit Cyborg where it hurts.

The flames dance above the rim of the metallic cylinder, a reflection caught in both men’s eyes.


When the light switch back one seconds later, Cyborg is gone, and the flames have been doused.

DSD’s smirk is just barely visible in the slowly dissipating smoke.

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